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Chapter Text

A Hidden, Shadowy Place

The Fright Zone

Etheria

The night of Catra's abduction

"Take her."

Shadow Weaver's smooth, disdainful voice was muted by the foul mist choking the air. The miasma was ever-present in the Fright Zone. The cost of progress. The cost of war.

She stood in the darkness, under the tainted midnight sky of the Fright Zone, a struggling girl bound, gagged and semi-conscious at her feet, and knew no one would dare question her. Dare approach her. They would not risk her noticing them.

As it should be.

She knew her pet traitor was hidden, waiting for her. She'd heard him muffling a cough as she'd approached. His kind couldn't handle the corrupt air of the Fright Zone. He was weak and soft, despite his lofty ambitions.

Shadow Weaver didn't notice the smog anymore. She barely cared it obscured the moons, even on a cloudless night. They didn't affect her power anymore - they were mere decorations, now. The ebb and flow of magic on Etheria was for magicians who didn't understand the truths of power. Let them worry about the moons and the tides. She had moved beyond such paltry magics.

"If you still want her, that is."

She could hardly blame him for changing his mind. His plan was bold and he was perfectly situated to pull it off - if he had enough daring, enough cunning, and wasn't completely stupid.

But the girl was hardly cooperative on her best days. She was an unending frustration who refused to submit to the simplest instructions or the most obvious commands. Her stubborn defiance could be his undoing if he didn't find a way to break her.

She ignored the girl's feeble struggles. She was gagged, silencing the ceaseless drivel she liked to spew. She was expertly restrained, down to each finger being wrapped to keep her claws from reaching any of the rough, heavy ropes. She couldn't make enough noise to even be distracting. The sedative tainting in her ration bars had done its work, and she was barely able to fight her confinement.

It was a sublime moment. Finally, the girl understood her place.

"That simple. Huh. Didn't expect that." The soft voice of the man waiting for her fell as flat as her own. She heard the rustle of clothing, but he made no other sound as he moved. "I figured you'd make me beg or change the deal."

He stepped out of the shadows of a factory wall. He was tall and lithe, with the slender, lean build of an ambush predator. His eyes glowed, reflecting the faint light back to her as pinpricks of blue. His nondescript robes didn't do a thing to hide what he was, but she hardly cared. His lack of discretion was his problem.

Shadow Weaver let her power flare in her eyes, the blood-red light flashing under her mask. A reminder to her pawn of who and what she was.

She heard him bristle. Good. "Why would I risk my chance to be rid of her?"

Once he took the girl, she merely had to wait for everything to fall into place as it should. Even if he failed. Her success was hardly dependent on his. Worst case, she could simply kill the girl - even though it would complicate her plans, it wouldn't be insurmountable.

Of course, if it came to that, he would die too.

"I haven't changed my mind, if that's what you're implying." She heard the implied scoff behind his falsely confident bravado and knew. He may not have changed his mind, but he was already having second thoughts.

Pathetic. Pedestrian. But what else could she expect from someone like him? Those weak enough to be betray their own were rarely wise enough to know when they reached beyond their abilities.

He looked down at the bound girl. Her eyes were glazed over, unseeing - Shadow Weaver's magics and a heavy dose of a cheap soporific had ensured she was out of her mind with confusion and fear and might not even remember this later.

Pity.

Still, the irritating girl would suffer and lose everything she cared about at least twice over. That would have to suffice for now.

His tail lashed behind him, completely exposed. She didn't conceal her distaste for the bestial trait. His people were barely civilized compared to her own. Though, the unruly beasts were still more civilized than the Horde she served. His people, at least, were from Etheria, despite being all but forgotten.

(She often wondered if Hordak realized she knew his secret? The truth of his rule? She doubted it; like the wretch she was manipulating, Hordak was a creature of limited vision.)

From Etheria or not, it was only a matter of time before even those forgotten peoples would be brought to heel, as the Scorpioni had been. She was just deeply tired of dealing with them.

She would, though. As long as she got what she wanted. But she was impatient to have this done. This was but one small step in her plans, and he was drawing things out.

He just stood out in the open and stared at the girl. Now that the moment was upon him, he was hesitating. How predictable. How disappointing.

Especially considering he'd come to the Horde with the basics of the plan himself. He'd surrendered himself to her apprentice in the dismal underworld of Subtheria and begged for an audience with someone of power in the Horde.

Shadow Weaver had been curious and granted his request. His idea was simple, but had potential - for her.

Take the girl back to her hidden homeland. Use her for his own ends in their broken kingdom. Regain his family's lost status and power for himself. In exchange, he would do a few small favors for her. Favors gaining her far more than she was giving up and extending her reach further than any of them could imagine.

He didn't know it, but he had sold himself for the price of false redemption with his own people, and in doing so had sold out the very people he wanted to buy acceptance from. But part of her respected his audacity. He didn't bother to pretend; he desired power, influence, and affluence. His scope was limited, but his want - she understood that.

"She is yours. I have all I will ever need from her."

She didn't bother raising her voice over the unending clank and clatter of factories. Her pathetic pawn would hear her even if she whispered. It was one of the few useful traits creatures like him had.

The man nodded sharply, his ears twitching, trying his utmost to be authoritative, but he was a silly child compared to her. He was the worst sort of traitor and while she did so love making men like him realize how far they had fallen and how much of them she owned, she didn't have time for it.

He would learn on his own. Slowly and by increments, as everything he thought he was gaining was stripped from him by his own blind ambition. She would enjoy that certain knowledge almost as much as watching it happen.

He frowned at her, wary. At least he knew better than to trust her. "You sure she'll do? They'll take any like her, but I need a specific kind of girl to make this work."

Oh, this poor fool. He had no idea what she was actually doing for him - he might figure it out, if he was smart enough, but it wouldn't matter in the end. She'd seen to it. For a time, at least, he would think everything had gone his way.

Shadow Weaver laughed. "See for yourself."

She knew so much more than anyone suspected. Knowledge she could now use, thanks to his paltry attempt to curry favor with a doomed monarchy.

The girl would be enough to get him an audience with his Queen, certainly. But when the truth of the girl's heritage came out, what would he do then? His own people would eliminate him as neatly as she could want. No evidence of her plot would remain.

Hordak didn't need to know everything she had done. Only that the girl was gone. Not that he would care, as long security wasn't breached. He didn't get overly attached to any of the orphans, despite indulging the silly Scorpioni girl far more than he should.

She had a solution for that, too. A small, personal victory in trade for the problematic feral girl.

"She'll serve your purposes well enough, for as long as you need her."

She flicked her hand and an arc of magenta energy drug the bound, struggling girl through the rust-stained dirt. Her body tensed and spasmed and she bit back a scream behind her gag as the magic enveloped her. Her shoulders torqued and her spine bent; her legs jutted out as much as the bindings let her as muscles snapped taut. Her arms jerked straight, pulling against the ropes.

Her magic dropped the girl at his feet. He looked down at the girl, her fur smoking and smoldering and her breath coming in uneven gasps. She shook and trembled with pain.

His tail lashed in frustration. His ears flicked back and he stared at the sorceress, misty tendrils of pale yellow magic starting to crawl around his hands. His voice had a hint of a growl, but not nearly enough to be threatening.

She thought it was more of a whine, really.

"I need her unharmed, crone!"

Shadow Weaver shrugged and dismissed his worry with a wave of her hand. "She's had worse, quite recently. She will recover; she always does."

She enjoyed watching him wince as she sent another blast of twisted red lightning into the girl; her body wrenched, her back arching in agony as magic coursed through her. She held the spell for a few heartbeats before finally letting the girl collapse, unconscious from the pain.

The fool snarled at her. "Damn it, how can I use her if she's an insensible, injured burden? I need her to - "

Shadow Weaver cut him off, pointing vaguely in his direction. She thought about taking the very air from his lungs, but decided it would be far too much trouble. He needed to be able to escape the Fright Zone, after all.

"Someone intelligent might think to tell your lovely queen a thrilling tale of heroism and sacrifice. I'm sure you are quite capable of - convincing - the feral little cur to go along with it. It is hardly my concern how you explain yourself when you return to your quaint little kingdom. I assume you can uphold your end of the bargain?"

The man huffed, affronted. His eyes glinted as he met hers, and this time, she saw his confidence was not feigned and his offense was genuine. How droll - but promising. He needed spirit to get away with what he planned. "I'm not stupid. If it wasn't already done, I'd have never dared come. I did as you asked. Nothing left on Etheria can fix it."

Shadow Weaver nodded slowly. "Good to know you are less useless than I feared. Very well. As I said - take her and never dare return here or I will have you killed. Painfully. Hordak gets very excited to test his toys on unwelcome visitors."

The man shuddered. Even such as he - a powerful sorcerer with the lost magics of a forgotten people - knew better than to tempt that fate.

He knelt, checking the bound girl over. He brushed claws through her fur, peeled back her lips and checked her teeth. He peered into her ears, nodding to himself. Shadow Weaver silently approved; he looked for injuries and signs of disease or defect.

It was too bad the girl was a living defect, even with the improvements Shadow Weaver had made. Useless and intractable. Destined only to be used and discarded.

It wasn't until he peeled back her eyelids that he smiled, laughing softly. "Oh. Yes. She'll do nicely." He clenched his fist and the tendrils of pale yellow magic lifted the girl up. "Who is she, anyway? If I'm trying to pass her off as the princess, I might as well know her name."

Shadow Weaver sighed, already half turned away from her pawn. "Catra. The other girl named her Catra."

Chapter Text

Cadet Dormitories

The Main Horde Compound

The Fright Zone

Etheria

The morning after Catra's abduction

Adora woke up alone.

That wasn't unusual. Catra rarely stayed in bed all night; she was restless. Sometimes she was up before Adora and off sneaking about, but she always came back before morning alarms. Usually, Catra was still draped over Adora when she woke.

Catra often grumbled about Adora waking up so much earlier than everyone else. "You don't need more practice, 'Dor. Sleep is better."

Most of the time, Adora still got up. Not always right away. Sometimes, she gave in and curled closer to Catra. More often recently; she'd realized Catra's was really asking Adora to stay closer a little longer.

Adora had a hard time telling Catra 'no' about anything.

Maybe she's stealing more water?

Catra was convinced Shadow Weaver didn't let Adora drink enough. Adora often got extra rations, but she was always thirsty. So Catra stole water for Adora as often as she could. Catra singlehandedly kept their squad safely hydrated, because Adora shared with everyone. No matter how poorly the others often treated her and Catra. Or how thirsty she was.

That made sense. Adora had felt awful the night before. Dizzy. Dry mouth. Barely coherent. Catra had made Adora drink most of the their good, clean water before bed. Before Adora had curled into Catra, clinging to her as the world spun and her stomach twisted.

But Catra's spot was cold. The pillow Adora never used was cold. And Adora wasn't under the thin sheets. Catra always pulled them over her if she got up first.

She felt slow. A few steps behind herself.

Her head was still fuzzy and mouth was still dry. Her skin felt parched and itchy and she was having trouble thinking. If she and Catra hadn't shared ration bars for dinner, she'd almost think she'd gotten some kind of sedative. (Adora hated being sedated; it was part of why she avoided the infirmary almost as much as Catra did.)

Adora didn't bother fumbling for the light switch. She didn't want to wake everyone and she knew her way around their dorm half-asleep. Catra was the one who turned on the light every morning just before the alarm. (Even though Catra could see in the dark.)

Not that it was ever dark in their dorm. Catra had forced Kyle to rig one small emergency light to never go out, because she knew how much Adora hated being in pitch black.

She didn't have to see to know Catra wasn't there.

More than the cold spot. More than the sheet. Adora felt it. The pit in her stomach. Her racing heart. The buzzing under her skin. Her instincts never guided her astray - when she listened to them.

Something was wrong with Catra, but she knew no one would listen to her. No one else would care if Catra was in trouble. Adora had learned that the hard way.

Years of habit had the fifteen-year-old sitting up in the bottom bunk. She snagged two bottles of clean water from the hidden shelf under the rarely-used top bunk and drained them in rapid succession. She couldn't afford dehydration. She needed to be in top form.

She needed to find Catra.

She hid the empty bottles under the bottom bunk, feeling around for Catra under the bed. She had to be sure. It had been years since Catra had slept under the bed while Adora there. They'd been kids the last time. She had stopped sleeping there regularly a few weeks after being found in the Fright Zone.

She used the toilet, scrubbed her face with a rag dampened from the trickle of water dribbling from the faucet. She checked the showers - Catra sometimes slept there when she got overheated or sick. She checked all the supply closets, in case she hid on a high shelf.

She made the bed; precise and smooth. The faint reddish glow of the emergency light cast the green metal room in sinister maroon shadows Adora knew by heart, but still feared. She knew where she lived; the Horde had hidden people in their dorm to watch them. Judge them. Even punish them.

To say nothing of what else could sneak in and lurk.

She wasn't afraid when Catra perched on the bunk, watching her. The best of their trainers couldn't take the two of them fighting in tandem. Together, they'd even taken down champions in training.

Together, they were unbeatable.

Adora ignored the panic growing in her chest. She stretched. She ran techniques. Fifty of each strike and block. Twists, turns, stances. She worked forms, repeating each slow and then fast. Baton. Staff. Knife. Empty handed. She focused on her breathing, trying to drive thought and worry from the anxious roil of her thoughts.

Every morning, she practiced, forcing her muscles to memorize. Forcing her mind to remember. The tiny shifts of weight for each motion. Proper breathing as she moved. Proper grip. Proper hand position. Every movement precise and smooth and perfect.

She had to be perfect. If Adora was perfect, Catra was safe. Shadow Weaver had promised.

She couldn't focus. Not like she should have. She couldn't think. Not like she should have. All she could do was move.

Feel nothing but each movement. Cold metal under bare feet. Hear nothing but the hum of the dim, sinister lights; the background whir of the HVAC, the soft grumbles and snores of her squad, the sounds of guards and trainers moving through the halls outside, heavy boots clanking on metal.

Catra usually watched her practice, for whatever reason. Sometimes, she offered advice and commentary - most of it useful. Some of it teasing. Distracting. If Adora took too long, Catra might pounce her, turning her practice into a spar. (Those were good mornings, when Catra was playful and wanted to be close.)

She brushed her teeth. Stared at the glowing yellow characters on the clock, knowing it well past the time Catra should have come back. She always came back, and always before Adora had to do her hair. Sometimes, Catra would even brush her hair for her. It was getting long. Maybe too long?

Every time she suggested cutting it, Catra hissed at her.

Catra always teased her about her ponytail and the little hair poof she liked. She'd seen it in a picture of an old general, from before the first Horde wars, and she'd been using it ever since.

Catra thought it was dumb, but had pouted the one day Adora hadn't had time to fix it.

She couldn't bring herself to fix her hair. She slipped her hair tie over her wrist, left her hair down. And stared at the door.

She sat on the bottom bunk - their bed - and waited. She knew exactly how long she waited, because she watched the lights get brighter and brighter as the clocks counted down towards the alarm.

No Catra. Her apprehension grew. Her instincts screamed at her, like electric snakes in her nerves, telling her something was wrong.

She stood up and walked up to the door. Her fists clenched at her sides. The large, square emergency release button, flashing dim, muted red, taunted her.

Her answers weren't in their dorm.

Adora pressed her palm to the big red button and heard pneumatic gears hissing and clanking; the door slid open, bright light from the corridor making her blink.

She saw who she needed. Shadow Weaver glided down the hallway, her tattered blood-red robes flowing around her. Her mask seemed to both glint under the harsh artificial lights and brush the light aside, as if anything drawing attention to her hidden face could not be allowed.

Shadow Weaver routinely surveyed cadet barracks; not only did she have wards, such Adora and Catra and their squad, she was responsible for overseeing much of the Horde cadet training.

If anyone would know, it would be their guardian. If anyone would have taken her, it would have been their guardian. She might have even caught Catra - refilling their water. Getting more rations. Or stealing one of the precious packets of anti-inflammatories or tiny field kits with medical supplies.

Adora stepped into the hall and the door slid shut behind her with a soft clang. She padded out into the middle of the wall and waited right in Shadow Weaver's path.

Cadet Dormitories

The Main Horde Compound

The Fright Zone

Etheria

The morning after Catra's abduction

"Where is Catra?"

Shadow Weaver smiled under her mask. Finally.

The blonde girl stood in front of her, hands on her hips, glaring up at Shadow Weaver with intense blue eyes, her face a mask of determination. She was still in pajamas, her hair barely brushed. Her bare feet were set on the metal floor and she looked every bit like she saw herself as an immovable obstacle between Shadow Weaver and wherever she was going.

Such - defiance. Shadow Weaver hated defiance most of the time, especially in her wards, but Adora often made it work for her. Once it was directed correctly, Adora's defiance would be quite useful.

Adora's potential power was vast and all but untapped, but the girl simply refused to do what was necessary, become what was necessary to reach her potential. Shadow Weaver was correcting that; the idiot magicat was gone and soon the girl would be isolated, alone and desperate for guidance.

Adora's eyes flashed, and Shadow Weaver wondered if she was imagining a flash of light behind the girl's blue eyes. Was she already tapping into her power?

"Shadow Weaver. Do you know where Catra is?"

Shadow Weaver almost laughed. If she'd been in full possession of her powers, the girl might have intimidated some people. It was a very good start.

It was also a fair question.

Adora knew how little Shadow Weaver cared for her companion. She knew how little Shadow Weaver cared for their friendship. She knew Shadow Weaver would not hesitate to take Catra away for the slightest thing. She knew Shadow Weaver saw Catra as a problem, even as Adora saw her as the most important person in her life.

Many times, Catra would be missing because Shadow Weaver was punishing her. Isolation. Beatings. Other tortures. Once, even medical experimentation - not that Adora knew about the corrections she had made to Catra's claws. That was Shadow Weaver and Catra's little secret.

Her ward knew Shadow Weaver's opinion of Catra, but she had learned the wrong lesson. Instead of distancing herself from the troublesome feline, Adora protected her. Covered for her misdeeds and indiscretions. Kept her away from Shadow Weaver. Even punishing Adora - sometimes quite harshly - hadn't dissuaded her from protecting her precious Catra from consequences and manipulation.

Adora had become one of the best cadets. The most dedicated. The most disciplined. The most focused. The most determined. She could do more at fifteen than some soldiers could do with ten years of combat experience. She had carefully, with intent aforethought, removed as many reasons as possible for Shadow Weaver to take Catra away. Or worse.

It was time for Adora to learn a different lesson.

This would be an excellent learning opportunity. Many lessons, all rolled into one event. A few assumptions planted in her head, and she would finally be moving in the right direction. She had become so distracted; drawn into the foolishness of the others, enamored with the cur, and acting like a child - not a soldier. Not a girl with vast potential, vast power, and a destiny that needed careful shaping.

Shadow Weaver had timed things perfectly, being precisely where she needed to be, when she needed to be there.

Shadow Weaver had paced the hallway a few times before Adora had come out, but made sure it looked as if she were merely passing by - a not uncommon occurrence.

Shadow Weaver had also scryed the girl, watching her nervously go about her morning routine. Adora had already been awake for at least an hour and a half. She was impressed; even with the sedative she had slipped the girl the night before, Adora was awake when she always was and the after-effects weren't slowing her down.

She had already exercised, practiced and somewhat prepared for the day. In between each step, she searched for Catra.

Catra, who should have been curled up at the foot of Adora's bed. (Not that they ever obeyed that rule. Shadow Weaver knew good and well the two slept cuddled up as close as they could get in the cold dorm.)

Catra, who should have been complaining Adora had woken up before the alarm again. Catra, who should have been sleepily watching Adora as she stretched and warmed up. Catra, who routinely pounced on Adora while she worked forms - ostensibly to help Adora's (already acute) alertness.

But Shadow Weaver knew it was because Catra wanted Adora's attention. She wanted Adora's affection.

It was sickening. It was foolishness. It was weakness.

Shadow Weaver knew her charge well. Adora knew Catra often wandered when (and where) she wasn't supposed to. Catra always returned before the alarm. She knew Adora would wait until the anxiety built and the worry became a constant peal in her mind, and she couldn't help but try to find her. Catra always came back to Adora.

But for the first time in years, Catra hadn't been there.

She would no longer allow weakness in Adora. It wouldn't be silly games with the stupid feral girl that brought her hidden power out. It would not be the idleness of childhood or the simplicity of mediocrity. Adora would thrive and become powerful through discipline and hardship and pain - the only true forgers of power.

Except this time.

Shadow Weaver tilted her head at Adora. She sighed with feigned impatience. And told the truth.

"How should I know, Adora? Catra is rarely where she is supposed to be."

She easily dismissed both Adora's concern and Catra's absence, scornful of the disobedient cur. Exactly what Adora would expect if nothing were wrong. Not what Adora hoped for, because in her teenage mind, Shadow Weaver knew all. The sorceress had cultivated that carefully, doling out answers reluctantly and often forcing Adora to find answers herself before revealing small tidbits of knowledge.

No matter what Adora wanted to know, it seemed Shadow Weaver knew.

Adora's stance didn't soften, but she blanched, her expression going from defiance to stark fear for her missing friend.

Shadow Weaver waited, letting the blonde's emotions build until the girl was heartbeats away from a melt down. She waited while Adora debated with herself over whether it was worth the potential price for Catra to ask Shadow Weaver for help. Waited for her realization it was too late to protect Catra this time; the sorceress already knew she was gone. Right as all of her emotion threatened to spill over, Shadow Weaver spread her hands wide.

"Worry not, Adora. I am sure I can find her, and perhaps, this time, she will learn the folly of not following simple instructions."

Adora's face paled and her defiance wavered, her posture becoming desperate as she reached out a hand, but Shadow Weaver had already turned away, smoothly gliding down the hallway with new purpose and determination.

The threat was clear. Adora knew the consequences Catra had paid in the past. She knew the consequences she had paid for protecting Catra from those consequences.

"Wait! I'm sure I just missed her in the dorm and panicked when I didn't see her! You don't need to -"

Shadow Weaver turned, waved Adora off and told the truth again. "You cannot protect her this time, Adora. But I will find an answer for you, and Catra will have to deal with the consequences of her behavior."

Adora steeled herself. "Shadow Weaver, please…I'm sure it's nothing…"

The look on Adora's face told Shadow Weaver the girl knew it wasn't nothing. Her fear was gratifying. Perhaps Adora had learned some of the correct lessons.

There was a faint hint of the girl's damnably light magic, like a cloud of static around her making Shadow Weaver's skin itch. She had long suspected Adora's magic warned the girl about things, but she'd never been able to prove it.

She smiled under her mask. No one could see her deep contentment as her plan unfolded perfectly.

"How often is it 'nothing' with Catra? No, Adora. I will find you at breakfast. Go. Prepare for your day."

Shadow Weaver left the dejected, anxious girl standing in the hallway behind her, defeated by her own need to find her friend, certain she had betrayed Catra to a terrible fate. The stage was set for the inevitable revelation. Adora would learn the proper lesson this time and would finally be on the path Shadow Weaver wanted for her.

Perfect.

Horde Training Facility

The Main Horde Compound

The Fright Zone

Etheria

The morning after Catra's abduction

Adora couldn't make herself eat breakfast. Not just because the red ration bars gave her a sour stomach. Not just because she knew Catra was in trouble. Not just because she still felt awful from the night before.

She had a bone-deep certainty things were worse than she knew. The same certainty got when a cloaked bot was coming up behind her in a simulation. Whenever she trusted her instincts, she wasn't wrong. Her bones and nerves buzzed, and the certainty hung around her like a thundercloud waiting to burst.

Adora sat at the table, sipped her small cup of tepid, metallic water, and waited. She knew Shadow Weaver would find an answer, which almost scared her more than not knowing. She also knew Shadow Weaver would tell her, but maybe not everything. She knew Shadow Weaver care about her - as much as Shadow Weaver cared about anyone - Adora also knew the sorceress thrived on the shock and pain and dismay of others. She saw it as her reward for doing her job well. Whether defeating a magic-crazed Princess or humbling of an errant cadet, Shadow Weaver did not deprive herself of her moment of triumph.

Most people didn't.

Adora had never gotten the same thrill from it. Catra loved to gloat and laugh at laying someone low, but it made Adora uncomfortable. She did like being praised when she did well; she knew she craved validation, affirmation. Always from others. Rarely from herself.

Especially when she didn't know if she deserved it or not. Every time she thought she'd done well, a trainer or another cadet or Shadow Weaver told her she failed.

How was she supposed to know?

Catra had always told her she was the worst possible judge of herself.

She never wanted praise when she hurt someone else.

She didn't know how to feel glee for someone's pain and misery. She knew it made her soft. She knew it was weakness. She didn't know how to fix it. Or if she wanted to.

This time there was no winning. No one would tell her Catra was okay. That she was being an idiot. Again. She wanted to be wrong. Even if she got punished for creating worry and sending Shadow Weaver off on an foolish errand.

Kyle and Rogelio encouraged her to eat, but she couldn't force the ration bar past the lump in her throat. Rogelio tried to slip her one of his carefully hoarded gray ration bars, hidden deep in his ever-present satchel. He didn't even joke about having gotten the hoarded ration from Adora in the first place. But it was obvious; the giant lizardfolk warrior worried more about Adora than Catra.

Kyle worried because Rogelio worried. The tiny blond boy was always anxious and took his cues from Rogelio and Lonnie. He hadn't noticed Catra was missing until Rogelio had. Now, he was tucked against Rogelio's side, staring at Adora with wide eyes, waiting for their 'leader' to eat.

(Adora hated being the leader. Why was she the leader? Who had actually decided that? Catra would have made a better leader!)

Lonnie sat and watched, alternating between being worried Catra was missing and smug Catra was in trouble. She'd only commented that she didn't want to run simulations down one cadet.

Adora hated how easily everyone else disliked or even hated Catra; she was the only one of her kind (whatever she was) in the Horde, and the Horde was built on the idea of conformity, of rigorous adherence to rules and discipline.

Adora was better at rules than most. No matter how much of a dummy she was; awkward and goofy and not able to figure out what (or when) to or do or say things. Rules helped her.

Catra wasn't good at conforming. She was good at everything else, though. The best at most of it.

Long ago, Catra had tried. She had tried to be a good soldier. She had tried to make friends. She had tried to fit in. No one had let her, and Adora knew it. Adora had tried to help, but everything Adora said or did seemed to make it worse.

But she and Catra always had each other.

Certainty thrummed through her like a drumming heartbeat. She no longer had Catra - Catra was gone. Somehow. She just had to avoid crying until she was alone. Even Adora knew not to show that much weakness.

As breakfast ended, Shadow Weaver floated in, stately and graceful, red robes flowing around her, dark hair crackling down her back like ebon lightning. She was in no hurry, but wasn't taking her time. Adora could never read her mentor through her mask, but Catra had always known - she could smell emotion sometimes.

Shadow Weaver stopped and motioned Adora over.

Adora stood. Her chair scraped against the floor, screeching as metal grated on metal. She ignored the sound, while other cadets winced or scowled at her. She ignored them all. They didn't matter right then. Had they ever?

None of them really liked her, either. She was Catra's friend. She was Shadow Weaver's favorite, and they all knew it.

She was given more rations (which she shared, damn it!). She was given more training (which she passed on, if anyone ever listened!). She also worked harder. She woke earlier and practiced, because she knew she was a klutz. She read later into the night, because she knew she wasn't smart. She thought more about scenarios and tactics, because she knew didn't intuit things the way Catra did.

Catra should have been the favorite. She was smart - smarter than any of them. She understood how to hunt, corner, and fight her opponents - her prey. She relished victory. She was a natural fighter; faster, stronger and cannier than any of them.

But Adora was the favorite. Because Shadow Weaver thought she had a secret power. And everyone knew what Shadow Weaver thought. She didn't deserve it. She never had.

Everyone fell silent as Adora stood. They wanted to see the fall of the favorite.

Her boots rattled the loose metal plating as she walked carefully. Her guardian would accept nothing less than discipline and dignity from Adora in public, and Adora didn't dare disappoint her right then. Not when she needed answers so badly. Her legs trembled and her hands shook but she walked with military precision, without a hint of haste.

"Walk with me, Adora."

Adora matched her shorter strides to Shadow Weaver's glide with the ease of practice and the sudden skill only fear and desperation brought.

As they left the mess hall, Shadow Weaver sighed. "I have no desire to go into detail, Adora, but Catra left the Horde last night. I am told she is alive and it is very likely she will reach her destination alive, where she will be given the chance to thrive or fail on her own dubious merits."

Shadow Weaver sounded bored. Distant. As if she were telling Adora the weather, not that her best friend was simply - gone.

Adora stumbled. She felt Shadow Weaver's disappointment and disapproval as the she scrambled to right herself, not a shred of dignity in sight.

Shadow Weaver waited with impatience and exasperation.

"What?! No!" Adora's heart raced, beating like a drum in her ears, a savage rhythm of anxiety and impending grief held at bay by stunned disbelief.

It's not possible!

Shadow Weaver stopped, mere yards away from the doors; far enough away no one could eavesdrop easily. A faint hint of artificial breeze wafted through the corridor as the HVAC system struggled to keep the air moving in the underground complex.

"I found your answer, Adora, and see no reason to tell you more. Return to your unit for training. I truly hope this - minor misfortune - will not affect your performance. I expect great things from you, even in the face of adversity."

Adora faced her guardian, frozen. She couldn't think. Couldn't respond. She could barely breathe. She blinked. Once. Twice. Her eyes stung and tears came unbidden, unhidden, unfettered by any semblance of the emotional control she thought she had perfected.

"What?" Her voice was a strained whisper; hoarse and weak.

Shadow Weaver shook her head, her disappointment palpable. Heavy and cutting. Adora had failed again. As always.

"I had so hoped you were past such foolish indulgences by now, Adora. Have you learned so little from me, that this affects you so?"

For the space of a heartbeat, terrible things crashed through her thoughts. Of Catra, exiled and alone. Of Catra, sent to the worst places in the world simply because she couldn't fit in.

Catra being sent to the Whispering Woods, one of the sacrificial scouts to be found by magic-mad Princesses and their insane vassals. Or sent to be Beast Island for her continual disobedience.

Her stomach clenched and bile rose in the back of her throat.

"What happened?" The question spilled out. "Why? How?"

Shadow Weaver clasped her hands in front of her. "Very well. If you must know to function like a proper soldier of the Horde -" She waved her hand airily. "The Horde, Adora, keeps its promises. Even those we find distasteful or against the best interests of our own. You know this. Every orphan who comes to us, unwanted and discarded, as you were were, may choose to return from whence you came. If, for some reason, you desire such, all you must do is ask, and it shall be granted."

Every cadet in the Horde knew about Orphan’s Right. The Horde didn't keep people who didn't want to serve. They could go home - even if their home had never wanted them. At least, those who knew where home had been.

Some, like Adora, had nowhere to go. No one but the Horde wanted them. They could leave and find their own way through the world. Until they were commissioned; there was no leaving after that.

Adora had always secretly thought the Horde lied about being able or willing to return them.

I was wrong. How could I have been wrong? She had been wrong about the Horde. What else was she wrong about?

Adora felt like she couldn't breathe; her heart pounded and the world spun. Her muscles wavered, feeling like loose wires were poking her under her skin, jolting her as she tried to stay standing. She couldn't suck in air fast enough and cold sweat soaked the back of her shirt and pants, running down her back and legs.

"She...wanted...to go? She asked?!" Her voice was a gasping whimper.

Catra had never even hinted at that to her. She hated discussing where they might have come from. Who they might have been if they hadn't been taken in by the Horde. Catra hated the people who abandoned her in a carboard box by a dumpster.

The only person Catra knew was on her side was Adora. The only person Adora knew had been on her side was Catra.

"Why else would she have been allowed to leave the Fright Zone with one of her kind, Adora? She left the Fright Zone last night with another feline hybrid, presumably on their way to Catra's people." Shadow Weaver made no move towards Adora. No gesture of support or affection. Not that Adora expected any. Comfort was something she only got from Catra. No one else cared how she felt.

"But...why...?" The gasping wasn't any better. Catra was gone. She had apparently gone - home? To her people - whatever and whoever they were?

Shadow Weaver stood for a long moment and her voice softened, shocking Adora. "I think it is best - for you - if we leave it at Catra wishing to return to her own people. She might be happier there. She never was able to truly succeed here, not like you. She may do better amongst her own, who will understand her failings."

A better life. A life without the punishments and rules. A life with better rations, maybe the freedom to run and play and hunt. Of being around people who knew and understood why Catra did some of the things she did.

A life without me.

The thought felt selfish. Especially if it was what Catra really wanted. But...why hadn't Catra told her? Didn't they tell each other everything? Best friends. Best friends in a place where friends were a luxury, a weakness - a dangerously bad idea.

Anger and frustration and hurt swirled with the grief and the fear. Was Catra okay? Had she been forced...?

She blinked away the tears. "What aren't you telling me?"

Shadow Weaver shook her head slowly. "It is for your own good, Adora. It will have to be enough that Catra has returned to her people."

The sorceress began to turn away, but Adora was fast - almost as fast as Catra. Her hand snapped out, catching the woman by her wrist in a strong grip, pulling her back. Yanking her back.

"No! I want to know!"

Magenta light flared and a twisting, coruscating tendril of magic stabbed into Adora, wrapping her in a nimbus of red lightning and pain. Her body convulsed; muscles tensed as tainted, stolen energy arced through her, searing her nerves and clawing into her bones like hot knives as fire raced under her skin.

Adora sucked in air and tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her muscles were frozen in a rictus of agony, clenched nearly to tearing.

She swore her heart stopped beating.

"Foolish girl! You know only what I allow you to know - and if you were not so weak, unable to master your own powers, you could shrug off my magic and strike me down for daring to hide the truth from you! But you can't, can you? You fail to learn the smallest magic I try to teach you."

The magic released Adora and she dropped to her knees, almost retching from the aftershocks.

"You want to know so badly? Perhaps you should face the truth of what you have done. Perhaps it will convince not to act like an undisciplined child! Why do you think Catra left and did not tell you?"

Her finger jabbed at Adora, who flinched, waiting for the magic to strike again.

"Who was it, Adora, who clung to Catra like a small girl with a pet or stuffed toy? Who was it who trapped her, a friend to only themselves? Who, do you think, Catra held herself back for? Certainly not for my sake. Do you not believe it possible that as much as she hated the people who abandoned her - she craved her freedom more?"

This time, when Shadow Weaver turned away, Adora didn't move. She just knelt on the ground, staring at her hands.

"Report for training. I expect a flawless performance, though I imagine you will disappoint, given your - irrationality."

As Shadow Weaver's glided away, Adora's tears splashed against the metal.

Catra was gone and it was her fault. She had failed Catra, too.

Chapter Text

An Infirmary?

Somewhere on Etheria?

Two days after Catra's abduction

Catra's claws came out before her eyes opened.

Her muscles tensed and she caught unfamiliar scents - vaguely familiar in a strange way, but also predatory. Like the hybrids from Crimson Waste; creatures like Grizzlor and his ilk.

Like her.

Antiseptics stung her nose. Acrid, bitter of medicines and the rotten scents of wounds and sickness pervaded the air. It was cool and bright lights pressed against her closed eyelids.

An infirmary. I'm in the infirmary.

It made sense, oddly enough. Her body ached. Her joints throbbed and her mouth was dry. Her skin itched and her fur was matted. Her nerves sang with residual pain from Shadow Weaver's parting tortures, and her memory was fuzzy.

She had been drugged.

Shadow Weaver had drugged her. She strained and struggled against sluggish, confused thoughts. She had to remember. She was disconnected from her panic, but she knew she had to remember.

She remembered Adora being sick after dinner. Scary sick. Dizzy and slurring her words. They had curled up in bed, but Catra hadn't slept. She had to make sure Adora was okay. The girl had needed water and as per usual, they hadn't had enough. She had snuck out. She knew where to find the bottles for field kits, and knew no one ever actually counted them. The bored soldiers prepping the kits just filled up as many bottles as they had.

Everything after sneaking out of the barracks was a blur of pain and vague images. She thought she remembered being caught by Shadow Weaver. Confronting Shadow Weaver over pushing Adora too hard. Depriving her of water. She thought she remembered the old witch blasting her with her magic.

She felt raw. Bruised. Her joints ached, like they'd been bent and twisted. Her head pounded and her skin was on fire.

There had been the smell of smog. An unfamiliar voice. Male. She had been carried? Electrocuted?

She couldn't remember. But she knew it was Shadow Weaver's fault. She knew Shadow Weaver hadn't wanted her to get back to Adora.

Adora.

Adora had been sick. Catra had to get her water!

Where was Adora? Catra could smell her anywhere, even the faintest hint, but her scent was gone. Which shouldn't be possible. Adora had spent enough time in the infirmary - either for Shadow Weaver's tests or injuries even their trainers couldn't ignore.

Catra could always smell Adora. Always track Adora.

There were too many differences in the scents. The air was wrong - heavy and still, replete with the tang of minerals and wet stone like chalk cloying against the back of her throat. There was no burn of metal or choking smoke.

Her ears twitched; unfamiliar voices. Unfamiliar sounds. The sounds of claws scraping over the floor. The sounds of breathing through nostrils not shaped for Etherian faces or even lizardfolk snouts or Orcs.

The rustle of cloth and fur.

She wasn't in the Fright Zone anymore. She had no idea where she was, but it hardly mattered. Maybe the Crimson Waste? The hybrids from the waste often had fur.

All she knew was Shadow Weaver had taken her - and Adora wasn't there.

She heard voices. Murmurs as they talked, heedless of her overhearing. The accents were different, but the words were the common Etherian she was used to. Which didn't mean anything. The old wars had created the need for a common tongue and most species on Etheria used it.

"…unconscious for three days…"

"…long term effects…malnourished…lightning damage?"

"…filthy. Needs an actual bath and…out of the Fright Zone, away from..."

Shadow Weaver had given her to whoever these people were. She wasn't going back home. She wasn't going back to Adora -

She would never see Adora again.

Loss and grief ripped through her like knives cutting into her gut. Rage rose up, implacable and all consuming.

How dare Shadow Weaver take her away from Adora! How dare these people put her in an infirmary! She'd had enough 'medical attention' for one life time.

She was leaving.

Catra leapt up, snarling, her claws slashing out in front of her as she landed, standing atop of the bed she had been lying on.

Her eyes wouldn't focus, but she saw an open door and glimpsed a gray and brown figure beside her. The figure moved, as if reaching for her. Her hand flicked out, swiping in a tight arc, and she felt her claws slice through flesh and cloth, catching on heavy fur. There was a yowl of pain and a curse as the blurry figure fell backwards.

Another figure moved towards her, but Catra was already dropping into a low crouch, rolling forward off the foot of the bed, diving between another pair of gray-clad legs, barely noticing the clawed feet that looked like hers.

She sprang back to her feet, instinct warning her as someone tried to grab her arm; her claws intercepted the hand at the wrist, digging in hard and pulling them in close. Her knee shot up high, right under their ribs, and her hind claws tore down the inside of their leg as she brought her foot back down, twisting and throwing them away from her with as much force as she could muster.

She dropped again, this time onto all fours, bounding out of the room and into a dark stone hallway.

Voices, behind her.

"Fuck, she's fast! Someone get the guards! We have a doctor and a nurse down and out - we need medics! Now! She's loose and I don't think she knows where she is!"

Catra hissed. She wasn't safe. Unfamiliar scents. She couldn't see straight; whatever she had been drugged with kept her thoughts slow and fuzzy. But she was still the best hunter, the best fighter in the Fright Zone.

Guards? They were summoning guards? They wanted to hunt her?

Let them try.

Catra slowed, falling into shadows; her vision was still blurry and her mouth tasted like ration bars gone bad, but she could see light from dark; she could hear and she could smell.

Her fingers were soaked in blood, and she was learning what these hybrids smelled like. How they moved. Was she on Beast Island? The Whispering Woods? Had Shadow Weaver finally banished her?

She figured it wasn't Beast Island. Beast Island probably didn't have infirmaries. And not even the rebels could build strongholds in the Whispering Woods. She had no idea where she was. The Waste was as good a guess as any, but from what she'd learned, the Waste wasn't much more civilized than Beast Island or the Whispering Woods - there were just fewer creatures who would try to eat her. Less magic to twist the world into eldritch shapes.

Leave it to Shadow Weaver to know some secret, terrible place to send me.

She padded silently down the hall, her breathing slow and low and her eyes narrowed. She could creep through the metal and smog and fire of the Fright Zone like a ghost - this dim stone hallway was easy to vanish into. There were no windows; only faint, flickering lights above her.

There was one more possibility. Maybe the worst yet- Subtheria. The underworld of Etheria; endless mazes of caves and settlements of strange creatures, rebels, and sorcerers. Or worse.

The Horde didn't send squads into Subtheria. It sent armies. It was fine. She was fine. She'd make do. Find her way back to the Fright Zone. Back to Adora. She'd deal with Shadow Weaver after she found Adora.

There were a lot of people who were going to pay for this.

First, the guards trying to find her. She could hear them. They weren't even trying not to be heard. Arrogant.

"She went down a service corridor and - vanished. It's like trying to follow smoke! Her scent is masked with all that grime she tracked in with her, makes it hard to scent her. Maybe find Akrash and see if he can scry her? He brought her in, after all."

The crackle of a radio and voice she couldn't make out responding. Then the guard spoke again, an echoing whisper ringing through the stone hallway, the his voice laced with desperation and frustration.

"That's a bad idea. A real bad idea. The worst idea. She's a Hordie and that makes her dangerous. She tore up the doc and a nurse. We don't know who she is yet! No one but guards and maybe a sorcerer should be…"

A crackle again. From ahead of her She could see the hazy outline of a person in armor. They had a - a tail?

Catra frowned. The tail seemed to - register in her mind. Something she should pay attention too, but she hurt too much. Her head hurt too much. All of her hurt too much. Too many emotions. The fear. The anger.

The loss.

Adora.

The only person in the entire world who would care she was gone. The only person in the entire world who wanted her around. The only person in the entire world who cared at all.

Adora wasn't here. Had Shadow Weaver taken her, too? Was she somewhere else, just as alone? Just as hurt?

She had to find Adora. She had to get back to Adora.

She forced herself to breath. Anger was empowering. A tool. But she had to keep it from making her stupid. She could try to surprise the guard. Sneak up. Capture him. Talk to him. Find out more.

The figure yelled into a radio on his wrist. "Tell her not to come down! Lock her in her rooms if you have to! This isn't safe for her, damn it! We don't know where the girl is or how dangerous she is! She's from the Horde! We can't trust her -

She's from the Horde.

If that's what these people thought, what they reduced her to - fine. They were wrong. The Horde didn't want her. Her own people didn't want her. No one wanted her. She was just a disobedient, feral, beast. Discarded twice.

She wasn't anything. She wasn't anyone.

Only Adora wanted her. She was going to get back to Adora.

Hot rage pooled her in her belly and her lips pulled apart in a feral grin. She would make them tell her. She would make them explain themselves. She would make them regret taking her.

They weren't hunting her. She was hunting them. Someone named 'Akrash' had taken her? Then 'Akrash' had some explaining to do, and Catra was going to make him come to her.

The guard's radio crackled again, and Catra was behind him. She jumped, one foot hitting the wall to push her higher; she twisted, her other leg hooking around the neck of the armored figure.

Her claws dug into his helmet, sliding into the metal like it was plastic, and she yanked his head back as she threw her weight behind her, dragging him to the ground. His head hit the stone floor with an echoing, heavy thud and the breath flew from his body in a sharp, pained exhale. She pressed her calf to his throat until he stopped moving. Rolling around the body, she stripped the comm from his wrist and the weapons belt from his waist. She didn't have time for his armor, but she was still in her pajamas! Shorts and a tank top weren't suitable for this kind of fight, but they were what she had.

The belt - with an extendable baton and a heavy knife - went around her waist. She held the comm up to her mouth, fumbling with buttons she couldn't see until she heard the crackle.

Good. Time to invite them to come play. They had no idea who they had taken. Their mistake.

Catra whispered. "If Akrash brought me here, then Akrash should come find me. Seems fitting, doesn't it?"

She threw the comm to the floor, stabbing it with her hind claws, making sure to thoroughly break it. She dropped the knife - it was too big and heavy for her. She knew better than to try. Adora would have been a menace with it, but knives weren't Catra's best weapon. She kept the baton.

It really didn't matter where she went, as long as she didn't get overwhelmed with enemies. She could stalk through their - base? Fortress? - as long as she needed to, until they were forced to send this 'Akrash' after her.

They couldn't predict where Catra would go, because Catra didn't know. They could try to set up guard posts and patrols, but unless they had an overwhelming force or this place was smaller than Catra thought, it would be hard to pin her down or get enough people to her until she'd already left wherever she had just been.

This was the kind of fight she'd spent her life training for. From sneaking around the Fright Zone to sneak attacking anyone she could to fighting bots and trainers and sparring with someone as skilled and strong as Adora.

They wouldn't ever see her coming; she might have a chance to win. For once.

Catra faded into the shadows again.

The Queen's Chambers

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two days after Catra's abduction

"Your majesty, please…!"

One of the Queen's advisers - Cloudpaw? Cloudfoot? - argued with his beloved monarch, trying to get the stubborn, willful, and absolutely fearless Queen of Halfmoon to not go get involved in the chaos and violence plaguing her castle.

The Queen didn't need to track down the runaway girl!

Not that the Queen was listening to her loyal adviser. The Queen was preparing to go find the girl herself. No matter what anyone else thought she should do.

Akrash calmly watched the chaos. He could guess the outcome, but he knew none of them really wanted his input. He wasn't sure what he would have to offer, anyway. He had his magic, but scrying the girl wasn't going to work. Shadow Weaver's torturous dark magic had saturated her, making magical tracking impossible until it bled off.

Still, he'd come further than he ever thought he could. He'd lied to the dark witch. He'd rescued the girl. Now, he stood in the Queen's chambers in Halfmoon Castle.

And while his parents had certainly wanted him to stand in that room someday, they had wanted him there as a prince or a king, not as a renegade sorcerer stained with the shame and dishonor of their attempted coup.

Assholes.

He felt a bitter satisfaction at being an ally to the Queen, not her enemy. Not a traitor. Not whatever else his parents had been and wanted him to be. It's not like he didn't have ambitions. Just not the ambitions others thought he should have. It's not like some part of him didn't see the appeal, though.

The room was beautiful; dark wood and dark stone and copper-chased fixtures. Warm lightning and thick carpets and luxurious furniture. Not that he had any idea how a civilization on the run from an invading army had any way of having all this nice stuff in an underground castle - much less a pre-made underground city to escape to.

The part of his mind dedicated to proving his parents wrong wanted to blame good leadership and fantastic emergency planning by the royal family. The part of him trained in logic and magic knew it was a lot more complicated than good planning.

Too bad his parents hadn't been smart enough to figure that out.

His people had fled to Subtheria when the Horde had come, and his parents (hells, most of his family) had tried to steal the throne from the Dr'iluth line. They'd failed. They barely escaped with their lives.

They'd left him on the side of a mountain as they'd fled both the magicats and the Horde, making him promise to wait for them and 'keep the faith.' Whatever the hells that meant.

Maybe, just maybe, if his parents had thought - even for a second - about the stupid levels of planning and preparation having an underground kingdom ready to go took, they might have realized the Dr'iluths had them beat and might have settled for killing off some Duke or something instead of trying to commit regicide and leaving him with a legacy of treason to overcome if he ever wanted to live amongst his own people.

It still surprised him how much he wanted connection with other magicats. Mystacor had been so good to him, but he still craved knowing his own history. His people's history and culture and - all of it. He wanted both.

Maybe some of his parents' desire to have everything had rubbed off in him, after all. Just, not the way they wanted.

Not that his own plan was going particularly well. His bargaining chip had escaped the infirmary and was currently running amok through the castle, leaving a a trail of injured, unconscious, and confused guards behind her and scaring the hell out of royal advisers.

The Queen sniffed disdainfully, flicking her tail at the older, portly magicat trying to talk her into waiting in her rooms as she unlocked a dark mahogany cabinet and pulled out her royal coronet from where it rested on maroon silk. "Cloudfoot, you have known me since I was a kitten. Do you really think pleading or reasoning with me is going to change a single thing I am about to do?"

Cloudfoot sighed, his ears flattening against his head. "No. But it doesn't mean I'm wrong, and it doesn't mean I won't try! What do you think to accomplish with this? We know nothing of this girl except she is apparently very dangerous!"

Queen Lyra Dr'iluth huffed, ears up and amber eyes glinting with a hint of her power. No sorcerer worth their staff could stand near a Queen of Etheria and not know how powerful they were. But royal magics and RuneStones aside, the Queen of Halfmoon had been a mighty sorceress before being crowned.

"Really? Are all of you so afraid of a single, scared girl? She has no idea where she is, is hurt and terrified, and instead of trying to talk with her, we're trying to use guards to intimidate her into going where she want her to go. For what? To knock her out and capture her? That will surely endear us to her! Gideon - what do you know of her?"

Akrash winced. He hated that name. "Respectfully, your majesty, my name is Akrash. Gideon is what a pair of traitors named me. Akrash is what my teacher named me when she rescued me from freezing to death after my parents abandoned me to go save their own tails."

Queen Lyra tilted her head at him in a slow nod. "Apologies, Akrash. My question stands."

He knew himself fairly well by this point. He had been one of the few magicats active on the surface of Etheria. Only, he hadn't been a pirate or a criminal or a spy. He was a sorcerer of Mystacor, trained in the magical arts by Castaspella herself. He'd left behind a lot of people he loved and cared about - including his fellow apprentice Ariel - to find out if what he remembered from his shattered childhood had been real. To reclaim what might be his place with his own people.

To stop his parents from ruining something else.

His nightmares had been memories, but horrific memories didn't tell him how to interact with or read his own people. Much less get a read on the Queen. (Or any Queen. He'd only seen one other Queen, and then from afar. And Angella had wings, not ears and a tail.) But both felt otherworldly and powerful. Knowing and wise and somehow steeped in sadness and fatigue.

Why had his parents want that job again?

The Queen was nearly vibrating with emotion; unnamed, unspecified emotion. A restless energy that wouldn't abate until she knew more. Until she met the girl he'd brought back with him.

Her tail lashed every few seconds, but she kept pulling it back to herself, wrapping it around her own wrist, as if to keep it from revealing too much. Cloudfoot had dismissed the other advisers as soon as word came down the girl had escaped.

There was more here than he understood. There was also just enough here for him to understand. Maybe more than Cloudfoot, because he had been in the Fright Zone. He had met Shadow Weaver. And Mortella. He knew the faces of those who wanted to destroy him - and his people. A people who barely wanted him. A people who feared him, hated him, because of what his parents had done.

He felt sick to his stomach. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, but the thought of leaving this 'Catra' with the Horde had felt even worse. He'd been lucky! Castaspella had found him. Taken him in. Raised him. Taught him.

This girl had been found by the Horde. Taken in and raised by them. He'd seen and heard what the Horde thought of her. How they treated her. How could have left her there? Even knowing she wasn't the girl the Queen desperately wanted her to be.

The Queen settled her coronet on her head and stared at him. Akrash held his own tail in his hands. He knew the question he was supposed to answer. He knew the answer the Queen wanted. The answer that might save him; might give him his home back.

His entire plan had been to return magicats taken by the Horde to Halfmoon. To beg for his honor. To beg for a place with people who could help him understand his himself. But there had only been one, and she wasn't the right one. It wasn't as if he hadn't done a good thing. Just not the right good thing.

He could lie to her. He could lie to the Queen as easily as he'd lied to Shadow Weaver and Mortella. He could spin a tale they'd believe, and then lie about being shocked when the truth came out, but what would it get him?

Whether he told the truth and was banished again in hours or he lied and got a few days in Halfmoon, the result would be the same.

At least he would be able to back to Mystacor. Back to Ariel and his teacher. Maybe after what he'd seen, he could convince the Council there to join the impending war. When it came, Mystacor needed to stand with the Princesses.

What he'd seen in the Fright Zone couldn't spread to the rest of Etheria. He couldn't let it.

He wanted to preserve what was still good in the world. He wanted to be part of making it better. The Queen deserved the truth.

He shook his head. "The sorceress gave her to me too easily, your majesty. She made sure to tell me the story of the stolen princess, offering me the chance to pretend this girl was your daughter. But - I don't think she is. I think she's just an orphan of the Horde."

The Queen stared at him, her eyes narrowed. "You - presume much, sorcerer."

He shrugged. She wasn't wrong. "I'm also not a fool. None of you want me here because of what my parents did. I left Mystacor to look for my own people, to see…" he trailed off and shook his head. "They came to me, you know. A few years ago. My parents, I mean. Promised me riches. Power. All I had to do was come back here and let them in I didn't, then. I'm not, now. They want to enslave our entire people to the Horde, and damn it, I lived up there. I saw the Horde. I went to the Fright Zone based on what they told me! I brought the girl home so maybe she can have what I can't! I lied to the old crone's face and got us both out of there! The girl was unconscious the entire trip from whatever Shadow Weaver did. I've never so much as spoken to her, but they wouldn't just give me your lost child, your majesty! I'm sorry! I just…"

He stared down. He'd just wanted to come home.

"Akrash." The Queen's voice was softer. Quieter. "I do not hold the sins of the parents against the child. You are telling me the truth as you know it. Not what I want to hear. You could have lied. Given me false hope, but you didn't. Thank you for that."

She stared at him, her eye softer than her voice. "You brought home a lost magicat. A daughter of Halfmoon. She is welcome here. You are welcome here. You would have been welcome here, even without bringing her to us. But she was raised in the Fright Zone and thinks me a monster and this place to be a nightmare. I am the Queen - and I will greet her and she will be welcomed here. She will have a home here, if she wants it. Come."

The Queen of Halfmoon turned and strode from her chambers to greet the lost child of her people - even as she raced through the castle, trying to find an escape.

Chapter Text

The Castle Halls

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two days after Catra's abduction

Catra slipped through shadows. She wasn't sure how long she had stalked through the strangeness of what she now knew was a castle. She had moved from corridor to corridor, dodging and occasionally taking out guards.

They were all alert and ready, but not alert enough. Not ready enough. She was scared, desperate, highly motivated, and highly trained. They weren't a match for her.

She'd eavesdropped on them so easily. They spoke their own language and Etherian, and she'd managed to learn she was in Subtheria, in a city or nation called Halfmoon. Not much else.

She had learned one other thing: this 'Akrash' had taken her from the Fright Zone with permission. Because these people wanted her here, in Halfmoon.

Catra was fairly sure she had never been this angry before. She had taken it out on the guards. They would all recover. Eventually.

She was glad she hadn't killed anyone, as easy as it would have been. As much as her instincts and training drove her to want to. It was what she was supposed to do with prey. What she was supposed to do enemies.

And as far as she knew, the people of Halfmoon were both prey and enemies.

But her vision had finally cleared; her mind was sharper. Realizing what she was seeing had stolen her breath for a few seconds and made her doubt her sanity.

They - all of them - looked like her. They were feline hybrids. They had ears like her. Tails like her. They moved like she did. They didn't bother with shoes any more than she did. They sniffed the air and their ears twitched and their tails lashed.

They were like her.

Catra had almost been convinced there was no one like her, but there was an entire castle - an entire city of people like her. She wasn't sure how she felt about it; part of her hated it. Hated them. Hated they were like her.

They were complicit in her abduction. They had conspired with Shadow Weaver. They had helped take her from Adora.

Just because they looked like her didn't mean they weren't enemies. She'd watched how the others who looked like Adora had treated Adora. She'd heard what they said about Adora. She'd seen what Shadow Weaver had done to Adora. She knew the Princesses looked like Adora. She knew many of their vassals looked like Adora.

But Adora was good. The Princesses weren't. Their vassals weren't. The other cadets weren't. Adora was like her; singular and unique. These people looking like her didn't make them like her.

Catra was going to make these people who looked like her take her back to Adora.

Akrash. Stupid name. A stupid name for a stupid - whatever they all were. She was going to make him tell her everything. Make him put her back where he found her.

They were just like Etherians and Orcs and the other hybrids. Some wore fancy clothes and some wore armor and some were servants. Some might even be slaves - how did she know?

Adora was good. Catra wasn't evil. (She knew she wasn't good, not like Adora was good.)

Which meant some might be good. Not killing was better. She would if she had to. If they made her.

She had to find Akrash soon. She was tired. Her tail was drooping as she snuck from shadow to shadow. She had taken down over half a dozen of the guards, and managed to get her hands on another baton. Part of her had wanted to take one of the comm units, but she knew how easily tracked it might make her. No need to make it easier for them.

Everything hurt. Her body felt heavy and slow. Her feet hurt. Her ankles burned and stung with each step. Every joint felt like it had hot spikes in it. Her skin felt raw.

She had to escape. She had to find out why she had been taken. Why she had been brought to this cursed place. Other than Shadow Weaver getting her away from Adora, she couldn't imagine why. These others like her couldn't want her back! Adora had found in her a cardboard box. In an alley. Discarded.

Why would she be given back to them?

She had made good time, too, stalking through the castle. She had gotten away from the service corridors; they were narrow and dimly lit, making them too dangerous. She needed more room to maneuver. She had raced through the maze of corridors and up spiraling marble stairs covered in plush carpet into the main halls of the castle, and her eyes had nearly bugged out of her head.

Everything was carved from beautiful, glossy, blue-gray marble, flecked with black and gold. The walls were the same stone, but decorated in rich, dark wood. The carpets were a deep purple trimmed in gold, with swirls of blues and other colors Catra didn't know the names of. Soft under her feet and didn't catch or snag her claws like the rare carpets in the Horde had.

There were darker stone sconces set into the walls blazing with light; the overhead lights designed to look like skylights but were really glowing panels filling the corridors with warm, gentle, yellow light, diffused and soothing to her strained, burning eyes.

The air was cool and moved gently, not ruffling her fur or making her skin hot. The air smelled clean, without dirt and dust and perfumes and the dank, heavy metals and chemicals burning the air of the Fright Zone.

But she didn't let comfort lull her into false security. She hadn't ever been safe, and she knew it. Fear was ingrained in her bones; part of her being. Only this time, Adora wasn't watching her back. She was alone.

Adora was just alone as she was. Catra knew it.

She sped up as she made her way down the corridor, already hearing someone waiting for her. She saw the massive, gold embossed, gold bound, dark wood doors at the end of the corridor, and the outline of someone trying vainly to hide.

Not going to work.

Catra relaxed; her muscles went slack and loose as she crouched, her hands on the batons.

One step. Two.

Right before the third step, she heard the second person above her - she didn't look. She just moved, her leg coming up to push her off the wall and into a jump, twisting mid-air to drive her elbow into the person dropping from above.

She felt the blow connect and heard them growl and fall backwards. They slammed into the wall and slumped, dazed. She turned towards the first person waiting for her, batons held low and wide. She was already rolling forward, away from a blast of light burning over her back with a tingle of electricity.

Use magic? On me? Not going to work.

She turned, the batons snapping out in a pattern she had been practicing since she was barely old enough to grip sticks in paws not quite grown into fingers yet. Her hips twisted, pushing power into each blow as her feet and legs followed the movements by rote, claws tearing into carpet.

Another blast of blue-white light flew past her as the batons hammered into flesh and bone.

The first blows rocked him back, forcing him stagger away, his hand extending and words of power uttered in a growling, guttural voice echoing in the hallway.

The third spell caught her in the chest. Lightning and fire arced through her and for an infinity between heartbeats Catra's body seized, but she forced herself through it. Compared to Shadow Weaver, it was a love tap. She'd had worse - recently. She clenched her jaw, and snarled, her iron will forcing control back to her limbs.

Catra knew she was fast. She had drilled herself, over and over, to be faster than anyone else, compelling her muscles and tendons and reflexes to do more through sheer will. Making herself that much better, that much faster, that much stronger.

Only Adora could keep up with her - not that she would ever tell Adora. The blonde would get a big head about it and Catra didn't want to have to listen to her. Well, maybe she did. Right then, she would give anything to hear Adora's ridiculous bragging again. To hear Adora again.

Her arms and wrists blurred, the batons whistling as she struck.

Ribs. Knee. Ribs. Stomach. The elbow of their extended arm. The wrist. The inside of the arm. Jaw. Head. Knee.

The sorcerer's face froze in shock as blows rained down; as bones cracked and air was forced out of his lungs. Eyes wide with surprise and disbelief and pain as he dropped to the ground, blood dribbling from his mouth.

She was tired. Her muscles burned. Her eyes burned. Her skin felt like it was on fire. Her joints ached and the world was spinning around her. She was working off instinct and muscle memory.

She ducked and the end of a gold and copper staff passed over her head, the speed of it creating a breeze that tickled her ears.

The other end of the staff came at her, but Catra's baton came up in a picture perfect block as her other arm extended in a savage blow aimed at the other woman's collar bone.

Taller than Catra, the woman was clad in a soft blues, with auburn fur and flowing hair. She was fresh and energetic and angry. Her staff - a beautiful weapon, adorned with delicate copper filigree etched into gold metal - was part of her. Her movements were smooth, controlled and precise, and Catra knew she might finally be outmatched.

The ringing screech of metal on metal rang through the hall as she and Catra exchanged rapid fire blows, neither one managing to land a single strike. They flowed against each other in a blindingly fast dance of strike and counterstrike, neither one finding an opening or an advantage.

Finally, Catra ducked under the staff, thrusting her baton into the woman's stomach with every bit of power she had left, forcing the woman back, coughing and retching. The staff nearly caught Catra behind the ear but she twisted backwards, almost stumbling.

The woman kept herself between Catra and the doors, using her height and the reach of her staff to keep Catra at bay.

"Stars, you're good," the woman panted. "Who the hell are you? Special forces? Assassin? How else could you fight my husband's magic?"

Catra snarled, slowly weaving back and forth, looking for the moment to strike. "I'm the reject cadet. You know, the one who can't get anything right? I'm the failure."

The woman's eyes widened and Catra surged forward. Again, they exchanged blows, but Catra was slightly too slow and one of the batons fell from her hand as the golden staff snapped against her wrist in a stinging, numbing blow.

Catra hissed and spun away. "Married to a mage, huh?" She jumped, claws digging into the walls as she pushed herself into the air, over the woman's head, forcing her to turn her side to the doors. Catra landed, her remaining baton crashing down. "What are you, his pet?"

The other woman barely deflected in time, the baton grazing her collarbone where it met her shoulder.

Catra panted. She couldn't get enough air. Her vision was blurring again. Her muscles were too heavy and on fire, but if she could get through the doors…

Then what? What was past the doors? What was this woman protecting?

"I am Kittrina of Eternia, Princess of the Old Clans!" She drew herself up proudly, staff swinging in at Catra again.

"Princess." Catra's voice was low and venomous, full of contempt as she batted the staff aside. "Should have known."

Princess. The people who looked like her were the enemy she had spent her life learning to fight. The people who had taken her away from Adora were the very people she had been raised to hate.

Shadow Weaver had given her to the enemy. To the worst sort of people imaginable. Power hungry and magic mad, Catra was fighting her way through the inner sanctum of the demons who controlled the world.

They looked like her, but Catra had been found in a cardboard box, by a dumpster. Discarded. Thrown away like garbage.

Like she didn't matter.

That's what having Princesses got people.

They hadn't wanted her? She didn't want them, either.

Catra hadn't killed anyone yet, but she was about to. Her world narrowed, and she ignored the sounds of the guards massing at the other end of the hallway, racing towards them.

She felt her heart slow. Her breathing steady. All she felt was the cold, unending, unrelenting rage at the people who had thrown her away and then taken her from the one person in the entire world who would miss her.

Catra smiled.

Catra struck. Her hand lashed out, her claws splayed, and the Princess twisted, using her staff around to bat Catra's hand away, but the staff never reached her. Catra dropped low and grabbed the center of the staff, pulling the Princess to her, twisting and pushing her towards the heavy wooden doors.

"I like your stick, Princess. I think I'll keep it."

The Princess' eyes went wide as she realized Catra had moved her right where she wanted her.

Catra's baton snapped out, hard and fast, right to the inside of the Princess' knee. Kittrina stepped away from the blow, and suddenly, Catra jumped.

Both of her feet slammed into the Princess' chest, pushing her into the doors with a heavy thud. They didn't break open, but the Princess dropped her staff. Catra landed on her back, flipped back to her feet, kicking the staff into the air.

She caught it in hands, dropping the baton. Holding it nearly at either end, Catra drove forward, slamming Princess Kittrina of Eternia into the wooden doors.

Cracks appeared in the wood as the Princess grunted, doubling over from the force of the blow.

Catra hit her again.

The cracks widened, and the Princess couldn't force herself to stand straight. For good measure, Catra slapped her in the face with the end of the staff, making sure to snap her head to side - hard.

The third time she slammed the Princess into the door they broke open. She heard the screaming of the guards as they rushed her, but Catra shoved the semi-conscious Princess aside, strode through the doors, eyes darting around.

She wasn't done yet.

The Grand Hall

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two days after Catra's abduction

"Protect the Queen!"

Catra burst through the doors and heard their rallying cry. The rage and the fear and the determination in the voices of the guards. Their outcry had told her everything she needed to know. She understood, now. She wished she didn't.

She was in a vast hall, lit by the same diffuse, warm yellow light. The high, vaulted ceiling was painted deep blues and purples and blacks, like the cold night sky right before moonrise - with diamonds and gold dots sparkling and shimmering like bright, tiny fires.

She had never seen anything like it. The sky she knew was blackness and clouds, lit only by the moons.

She saw the moons of Etheria cut into the ceiling, adorned with precious metals and gems, aglow with reflected light.

Tall square columns, carved from the glossy blue-gray marble rose from plush carpet runners of deep purple. Flecks of gold in the marble gleamed, and the air seemed alight with misted glitter.

Under the carpet was rose and gold tile, framed by bright lines of copper.

"Stop her! Don't let her reach the Queen! For Halfmoon!"

Hundreds of feet in front of her, Catra saw her waiting. The Queen, surrounded by soldiers Catra thought were probably Knights - what the Princesses called their champions. Those in robes were likely sorcerers.

And one standing next to her, tall and serene.

Fine. Let's do this.

There were guards waiting for her just inside the broken doors, but Catra was ready for them. Tired as she was. Hurt as she was. She was ready. They weren't.

I'm not done yet.

Catra had seen her prey and was driving forward to her; she would die, but what did that matter? She would die with the blood of a Queen on her claws. She was already moving as she cleared the doors.

The staff - a weapon she knew better than the batons, better than anything but her own claws - was alive in her hands. Perfectly balanced, weighted and crafted to be the weapon of a Princess.

Now her trophy, her weapon, stripped right from the claws of the first Princess she had fought. It was hers now, its new purpose more terrible than its previous owner could have imagined.

They tried to stop her at the doors. They failed.

The guards were wholly unprepared for the sudden violence of her attack. The staff flowed around her in golden arcs, each blow as perfect as her most demanding trainers could have ever wanted.

Claws. Knees. Elbows. Even her teeth. She was a whirlwind in the center of them, silent and precise, battling forward step by step, blood and injured or unconscious guards marking her path.

The guards behind her tried to fan around her, box her in, but were funneled through the broken door, but she was already moving. They couldn't keep her from going where she wanted to go.

They had to stop her. All she had to do was survive long enough to do what she needed to do. Catra knew, now. As she had walked through the broken doors, she had understood. She was there to die.

She would never see Adora again. Adora would never be broken, could never become whatever twisted version of herself Shadow Weaver wanted her to be if Catra was there.

She'd been in the way.

She spun through the strikes and blocks she'd practiced ten thousand times. Batons and swords and knives rang off the metal of the copper-and-gold staff, and Catra saw red sparks fly as she deflected some of the weapons.

Each block twisted into a strike; each strike blurred into another attack. She wanted to laugh, but every sound was trapped in her chest.

This wasn't about her. Nothing ever was. She was okay with it this time. She knew, now. Catra didn't matter. She never had. She never would. She had never been given a chance to matter by anyone but Adora.

Failure. Reject.

Adora mattered. Adora still had a future. No matter how dark, no matter how bleak - Adora had a future. Her future was a war that wasn't theirs, but Catra would win a victory for her.

It was all she had left to give. Even if Adora never knew.

Guards found themselves tangled with each other as Catra ducked under and around them - or rudely climbed them and leapt off their shoulders and their heads. Her staff whistled through the air, hammering into soldier after soldier. Knocking them down. Knocking them aside.

They'd been good, that last night. Adora had been tired and sick, but had clung to Catra, burying her face in the fur of Catra's neck. Their last memory of each other. Her most precious memory.

She was going to die remembering that - not what came next.

She was going to die, but she was going to make sure there was one less Princess for Adora to fight. One less Queen to rule Etheria. One less enemy her girl would have to fear. For Adora. In spite of Shadow Weaver.

Guards raced in behind her, desperate to stop her. They wouldn't be enough.

More guards waited in front of her, trying to cover the space between her and her target. Between her and a Queen of Etheria.

They wouldn't be enough, either.

There was too much space and not enough guards. They were almost as fast as she was, but they weren't faster than bots. Or as brutal as her teachers.

She would reach the Queen; their best efforts wouldn't be enough.

A queen who looked like her. A queen with a face and ears and tail and claws like her. The ruler of a people who were like her. A queen who had to die.

Distantly, Catra felt a pang of regret. Sorrow. She had found her people and to them - she was 'from the Horde.' Reduced to being part of where she'd been discarded. Tainted and dangerous.

Feral. Mongrel. Cur.

The guards weren't fast enough. She slipped between them, her claws lashing out, the staff spinning, knocking them aside. Knocking them down and cutting bloody furrows through armor and fur and flesh.

All she had to do was survive long enough to do what she had to do. Kill a queen. Maybe finish off the Princess she had left behind.

She jumped, dodging magic thrown by sorcerers near the queen. Bolts and blasts of light crackled through the air around her as she spun and jumped, landing in a forward roll - leaving the carpet and stone behind her scorched and smoking from the fury of their attack.

She saw their wide, startled eyes, and she smiled. The sizzle of acrid ozone from the magic filled the air like Fright Zone smog.

She darted forward, between two of the heavily armored knights, dropping low into a staff sweep, dropping one onto his back with a rattle of heavy armor - the other end of her staff snapped up and caught him in the face as he tried to stand.

She rolled away as he fell, her elbow catching another in the sensitive spot behind the ear. He yowled, but wasn't fast enough to keep her from kicking out the back of his knee or driving the butt of her staff into the back of his head.

The guards around the queen spread out, knives and swords appearing in their armored hands. Magic crackled as sorcerers drew on their most powerful arts, ready to smite her - if they could catch her.

And Catra got her first look at one of the legendary Queens of Etheria.

She wasn't tall, like Catra thought Queens should be. Not much taller than Catra, but she held herself with presence even Shadow Weaver or Hordak would be hard pressed to emulate.

The Queen stood in the warm glow of the lights; her fur was golden and sleek, and her hair was a wild fall of dark brown cascading down her back. She wore loose maroon pants and a matching vest, brocaded in gold. Matching copper bracers wound around her wrists, and a copper circlet wrapped around her head, delicate and all but made of metal fire.

The Queen was motionless; the stillness of an apex predator unafraid of what dared hunt it. Her power - arcane and temporal - hung in the air around her like an approaching storm, waiting.

Queen or not, she would die.

"Your majesty," Catra snarled and spun the staff through the air, crouched, ready to strike as soon as she had an opening. She looked up at and met the queen's amber eyes.

Eyes the same color as one of hers. A face she knew. Stripes blazoned on fur she saw every time she looked in a mirror.

The cool air of the hall seemed to wash over Catra all at once, wafting over her fur as it stood on end; the Queen's eyes widened.

Shock. Wonder. Recognition.

The Queen's mouth fell open. Her hands slowly came up from her sides. Almost, but not quite reaching. Inviting. Entreating. Begging.

"C'yara… " The Queen's voice carried through the suddenly silent, still hall. Her eyes were wet as she blinked slowly, ever so slowly, at Catra. "It's you. It's really you."

Catra hissed, almost darting in, but - something in her chest, something in her head, throbbed and pulsed and held her back.

Me? She thinks she knows me?

The Queen's voice was a whisper. "My daughter."

Catra snarled. And gathered herself for the attack. The Queen was hesitating! Why couldn't she move? That tightness in her chest, waves of emotions she couldn't name had trapped her. Was it the Queen's magic? Was that how the madwomen ruling Etheria kept assassins and champions at bay?

"No!" The Queen gasped, her hand held out in hopes of staying the inevitable. "C'yara, please! Please…my heart…remember. You're home."

The second time that name rang out, Catra heard it echo in her mind. Like a memory she'd never known she had. A whispered voice in the warm, safe darkness. Arms holding her as she breathed in the scent of…

…of…

She shook her head. No!

She didn't have a mother. She didn't have family! She had been abandoned! Throw away. This - Queen wasn't -

She couldn't be -

Amber gold eyes met Catra's and the Queen's eyes were full of desperate hope. Maybe - affection? Something else. Something all-encompassing. Only Adora looked at her like that.

"C'yara…daughter…please! Remember! You are home!"

The breath left Catra all at once. She felt herself step back, her mouth opening, but no sound coming out.

She shook her head violently, to clear it. "No! I was thrown away! By you! By the Horde!"

Only Adora wanted her. She would never see Adora again. She just had to -

She was going to die, but she wouldn't die a failure. She jerked forward, but the Queen didn't move.

The Queen shook her head slowly. "Never! Never abandoned! Never forgotten! Taken from us. From me!"

The Queen's old wounds of anger and grief, the whispers of desperate new hope - it all carried in her voice.

Catra wanted to -

Needed to -

A single word reverberated in her thoughts, distant and forgotten. Momma…

Guards surged forward as Catra paused, seeing their opening.

The Queen's hands came up and her voice beat against the air with power; her magic impacting the world like an avalanche. Her single word hammered into the room with the force of thunder - a peal of command and an unrelenting demand.

"Stop!"

The air around her rippled and the knights in front of her, resplendent in the copper and gray armor of their calling flew and away from both the Queen and Catra. They stumbled, the metal clanking.

Sorcerers were bound in burning runes, shackled by the Queen's unbroken will, pulled away from Catra, their own spells trapped as the Queen silenced them. The guards behind Catra were thrown back towards the door.

Catra shifted, untouched by the magic. Her arms burned with fatigue as she raised the staff and her mouth curled in a rictus of determination.

The Queen stood, motionless yet again.

Alone, but for one sorcerer, still staggered from the impact of the spell, his own counter-magics weaving around him in blue-white shimmers. He was tall and slender, his fur a stark, bright white and his eyes a clear blue - the blue of gemstones, not the soft blue-grey of a morning sky.

The wrong blue.

His robes were dark purple with hints of blue and silver; symbols she couldn't make herself look at danced at the ends of his sleeves. He gasped, reaching for her. "My Queen!"

The Queen jerked her wrist away from him. "No. She is my daughter."

Her voice was soft. Full of wonder. Full of awe. Of a certainty Catra had never known.

"But -!" He shifted awkwardly, as if he had more to say.

"No, my friend. No. Enough! I have nothing to fear from her. Nothing." The Queen took a single step forward, her hand slowly raising towards Catra, as if - entreating her?

Asking to touch her?

What? Did this Queen think Catra was weak enough to succumb? To kneel at her feet and pledge her loyalty just to live?

I don't have anything - anyone - to live for anymore. It didn't matter. Only her last dying act mattered. One good act in a lifetime of failure.

Only one thing left to do.

For Adora.

The Queen took another step, and Catra watched as tears rolled down her face, dripping over her fur, falling on the silk and gold of her vest. The Queen's hand trembled.

Her voice was choked by tears. Strangled by trapped sobs. "C'yara. Please…please remember…my heart, please…"

Another step.

Catra was confused. Her body shook as everything caught up with her. She had to -

She had to -

Catra forced herself to bring the staff up again. She didn't remember letting it fall. Why couldn't she look away from the Queen? What was the tightness in her chest? What dark magic was this?! What lies was the Queen putting into her head?

Another step.

"What have we let happen to you?" The Queen could no longer hold back the sob. Her body shook with the force of it as it tore from her chest. "What did they do to you?"

Another step.

The wafts of cool air fell across her again, and a scent came with it. Warmth. Sweet. Spicy - like the cinnamon and apples they got once a year and the feel of warmth.

The feel of fingers through her hair, tugging at her ears. The memory of leaning against someone, wrapped up and safe and -

Loved. Wanted.

The sounds of laughter. A giggle. Catra shook her head. NO! I can't fail again…I can't…she's…

The white-furred one took two steps to catch up to the Queen. "Your majesty, please!"

The Queen's eyes flashed, but she didn't look away from Catra. Her power flared, pulsing out from her, and this time, the white furred sorcerer was violently thrown backwards, his magics fizzling out as the Queen bound him as she had the others.

"No, Akrash! No." She smiled at Catra; the expression warm. Fond. Marred by tears. "She can kill me if she needs to. She can strike me down right now if that's what will fix it! She is my daughter." All the strength left the Queen's voice as she sobbed again, her other hand coming up to her mouth. "My daughter…"

This time, Catra stepped forward. She staggered, her knees not wanting to hold her up. Why was her face wet? Why was she crying?

The Queen's trembling, shaking hand reached out a bit further. "You're….you're…alive…"

The scent washed over her again, and Catra felt - she felt -

Catra leaned back and she roared, screaming her rage. No! What was this?!

The Queen actually laughed, the sound watery, caught up with tears and barely controlled sobs. "Oh…oh…you're his daughter, aren't you? He would be so proud right now. Your rampage. Your - defiance. He always loved your defiance."

Defiance.

The word rang in her ears. With another memory, of a deeper voice, whispering to her to ignore everyone. To be fierce. To be defiant. To be a warrior.

"Ignore everyone, C'yara. Be anything you want to be."

The scent filled her nose, her mouth, cloying and clinging to the back of her throat. Catra felt her body shake. The staff fell from numb fingers, falling soundlessly onto the carpet.

Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a plaintive mewl.

She knew, now. She knew. Shadow Weaver had sent her to die. Shadow Weaver had sent her to kill her own mother.

"No…" The whimper came out with a sob of her own as she collapsed.

Queen Lyra of Halfmoon caught her daughter and sank to the floor, cradling Catra to her, her tail wrapping around the girl's waist, her fingers raking through the short, soft fur at the back of Catra's neck.

"You're home," she whispered, feeling Catra shudder as the emotion started to burble up, trapped for too long. "You're home. And I've got you."

"You're safe, C'yara. You're safe. You're home."

As Catra felt the last vestiges of her consciousness fade, felt her mother's arms around her, her cheek pressed against the Queen's, she heard one last whisper, words ghosting across her ear.

"You have always been my heart, and you have never been forgotten..."

Chapter Text

Cadet Dormitories

Main Training Complex

The Fright Zone

Etheria

One week after Catra’s abduction

Adora zipped her duffel closed.

It sat on her perfectly made bottom bunk. The top bunk was still a glorious mess, even a week after its ostensible owner had gone home.

The red canvas of the duffel seemed to fall in on itself. Adora was fifteen years old, but everything she owned fit in the small bag with way too much room to spare. Lonnie would have needed two bags. Kyle would have forgotten where he put his bags. No one would ever know how many bags Rogelio would need, because he would carry everyone’s bags.

Today, Adora carried her own bag. She had slept alone for a week, and now she was leaving the room she’d grown up in forever. Today, she was leaving the people she’d grown up with behind.

Not the same way she’d been left behind. Unlike Catra, Adora wasn’t choosing to leave. Unlike Catra, Adora was being forced to leave.

Shadow Weaver had insisted. She was disappointed with Adora’s performance since Catra had left. She was frustrated and felt Adora wasn’t going to live up to her potential if she stayed with her squad.

It tore at Adora; she knew it was the right decision.

She’d been failing all week. Making bad decisions. Second guessing everything. Leading her squad to defeat after defeat. Somehow, Shadow Weaver had almost seemed - sympathetic? Patient? Rarely scolding her. Rarely making her feel worse than she made herself feel. Instead, Shadow Weaver had just kept ordering her to ‘try again.’

And again.

But after a week, Adora knew she had run out of sympathy and patience. Shadow Weaver had ordered her to move to a different barracks. A different squad. Training with different people.

Because it was obvious she couldn’t stay where she was.

Thunder rolled outside, the sound reverberating through the metal room and the metal halls, as if the walls vibrated with the anthem of the storm. It had started without warning while Adora packed, the acid rain pummeling their building while thunder drowned out any words she and her squad might have said to each other.

Not that any of them would have said what she needed to hear. She wasn’t sure any of them missed Catra at all or understood why Adora did.

She had no idea who she was without Catra. She didn’t think she even liked herself very much without Catra. She wasn’t just bereft of a friend. She was bereft of purpose; of focus. Her guiding light - the person she followed, even when she was supposed to be the leader, was gone.

Adora’s confidence had left with Catra. Adora’s hope and Adora’s dreams were with Catra in whatever place feline hybrids came from - a place Adora knew would always desperately want to find; a place she would never be allowed to go.

She didn’t deserve to. She had failed Catra. Catra had left because of her. How could she stay with the others when she would just do it again?

The staccato whisper of acid rain pelted the ceiling with ceaseless, rapid threat - the very clouds a poisonous reminder of how much Etheria wanted to kill them. The rains came from the foul magics permeating the land, reacting badly to the natural progress of technology and infrastructure of the Horde.

Adora straightened her jacket. She made sure her extendable staff hung on the right place on her belt. A glance in the mirror told her ponytail and hair were exactly as they should be.

She looked like she was exactly who she should be. Like she was exactly who she had always been. Only, she wasn’t. She wasn’t who everyone thought she was. She wasn’t who she thought she had been.

She was a failure, and Adora had no idea if she would ever be anything but a failure. A broken girl who had only mattered because of the friend she had trapped in her shadow.

Who she’d thought she was had been a lie.

She slung the bag over her shoulder and turned, the heel of her boot grinding into the metal floor as her body whipped around with perfect, stiff, military precision. She stared at the girl waiting for her in the middle of the room. Lonnie. They’re all yours, now.

Her hand raised in a perfect salute.

Lonnie saluted her back. Lonnie’s salute was sloppier, her posture looser and more relaxed, but there was nothing there but respect. The respect mattered to Adora. It meant something. She wasn’t sure what, but it meant something.

Over Lonnie’s shoulder, six new cadets waited. Six new cadets to fill the many empty bunks in their dorm.

Not enough. Never enough for the war that raged. Never enough for the wars to come. Never enough to free the world from the madness waiting beyond the borders of the Fright Zone.

Lonnie met Adora’s eyes and nodded once. “I’ll take care of them, Adora. You can trust that, if you can never trust another thing again. I’ll keep the faith, no matter what. When the time comes, when you’re ready…this squad, your squad will be right behind you.”

Adora couldn’t help but smile, even as she knew there was no way it could be true. There was no way she would ever be ready. There was no way she would ever be worthy.

“I know you, Lonnie. I believe you. I trust you.” Adora knew she might never trust anyone again, not the same way she had. She knew better now. But she also knew Lonnie believed what she said.

At least, for now.

Both girls dropped their salutes, and Adora strode for the doors as the new cadets filed in.

Lonnie’s voice boomed through the room. “All right, newbies! Pick a bunk. Any bunk except the one she just left. You want to argue, Rogelio will rip your arms off and beat you with ‘em! Clear?”

Adora kept walking. It fit that the sound of her boots on metal were drowned out by thunder and rain. Her life had been drowned out by failure after failure. The failure to learn magic. The failure to show Catra how much she really meant. The failure to lead her squad as she should have.

Drowned out.

She could live with that.

She didn’t really have much left, and she wasn’t dealing well with figuring out that without Catra, there really wasn’t much of ‘Adora.’

How could she blame Catra for leaving when Adora hadn’t let her be her own person? How could she blame Catra for leaving when everything that mattered to Adora had been wrapped up in a single person?

“Hey, blondie.” The gruff voice of Commander Cobalt caught Adora off guard. She turned slowly, seeing him standing in the door of his office, arms crossed over his barrel chest. A hybrid from the terrifying and desolate Crimson Waste, he had been her trainer most of her life. He’d loomed over her life, punishing her for every tiny infraction, forcing her, pushing her, driving her to do more. Be more. To serve the Horde. To save Etheria.

He was the Sergeant of Cadets; the first and last word on who succeeded. Who failed. Sometimes, who lived and who died.

“For what it’s worth, I think she made a mistake. Should have stayed with you. With us. They never wanted her. You did. You deserved better.”

Adora felt each word like a blow, knocking the breath from her chest and shattering whatever calm she’d managed to find. Because for all Commander Cobalt had done to hurt her, to scare her, to push her over the years, the one thing he’d never done was separate her and Catra. He’d never even threatened it.

She forced a smile onto her face and pulled her hand up into a salute. She didn’t have any words left, but she could give him that much respect.

The blue furred officer saluted her back. “Give ‘em hell over there, blondie. Show them what we’re made of - and that they aren’t better than us. That clear, cadet?”

“Sir.” Adora snapped to attention, dropping her salute. She nodded. She was a failure. She would fail at this, too. But she wouldn’t tell Cobalt that. “Yes, sir.”

He huffed. “Good. Go on with you.”

A few more steps down the hall and Adora fell into step with her guardian. Shadow Weaver said nothing. Adora knew she was right on time, down to the second. She knew she would still fail, but now she would be perfect in every way she could be.

It was the only way forward.

Shadow Weaver gave a slow nod. “Let’s go, Adora.”

Adora gave a slight bow. She had seen some of the older soldiers doing it once and had picked it up.

It seemed fitting then, when no words would matter.

There were no more words as they walked down the dim corridor. Adora had nothing left to say. All of her words had been stolen a week ago. She hadn’t even tried to find them. What was there to say, now?

Shadow Weaver laughed softly. “Come now, Adora. This is a somber moment, yes, but not a sad one. Don’t you think it is time to begin anew?”

The doors slid open, revealing the darkened afternoon sky and the horrible rain leaving scorch marks and streaks of terrible grime and awful chemicals on metal buildings and concrete walkways.

Shadow Weaver raised her hand and a bubble of magic wrapped around them.

“Yeah,” Adora shrugged. “Sure. Begin anew. Why not?”

Special Training Compound

The Fright Zone

Etheria

One week after Catra's abduction

They walked through the storm, untouched. Winds and rain and thunder and lightning stopped at the edge of Shadow Weaver's magic. She knew Shadow Weaver was a sorceress equal to or greater than any the Princesses could field. She only seemed afraid of Hordak himself.

Like the Princesses themselves, he was a power and a domination and he strove to wrench the Princesses from their thrones and shake the foundations of the world.

Above them, the sky was hidden behind roiling, twisting clouds crashing against each other. Lighting raced from cloud to cloud, sparking and flashing and lancing down to hammer the earth and the buildings around them. Even Hordak didn't insist on guards and patrols during these storms. The rain alone could kill an armored soldier. Those caught in it came back with burns and scars.

The storm's roar was muted inside Shadow Weaver's magic; a faint and distant whisper, despite being mere feet from them. Under their feet, the ground - turned into a slurry of sulfurous, loose mud stained green and red with minerals and chemicals - felt hard and dry and stable.

Shadow Weaver didn't gesture to hold the magic. Her mind alone shaped the spell. Her will alone empowered it, without apparent effort. Relaxed, she floated along calmly, red robes billowing around her. In absolute control of herself and everything around her - even the fury of nature.

The magic glowed a faint red, and through the glow, Adora could see the Fright Zone clearly. The trails and walkways and cart trains carrying raw material to the ever-alive factories pumping out bots and armor and guns and more to arm the troops fighting for the soul of Etheria.

They passed Hordak's sanctum - a tower jutting high over everything else, adorned with thin rods stabbing into the sky like needles, capturing each bolt of lighting, storing the fell power. (She knew there were other collectors around the Fright Zone, but the lightning was always drawn to Hordak's tower.)

Ahead of them was a shadowed compound surrounded by high walls and looming, black metal gates. Massive turrets stood between spiked crenelations as bots - sacrifices to the storm - stomped across the ramparts, gears whining in protest as the poisoned rain punished them.

A place only spoken of in secretive whispers. A place of fearsome, shrouded rumor. Home to those Hordak deemed worthy; the sorcerers and champions who exerted his violent will upon a world gone mad. What the oldest soldiers called Shadow Weaver's 'Dark Temple.'

Her new home. Not because she deserved it. Not because she wanted it. But because Shadow Weaver said it was. While the Horde was Hordak's - the champions and beings of power were Shadow Weaver's to command.

Shadow Weaver didn't slow. She just looked up, red light kindling in her eyes. The gates groaned; hinges screamed and mechanisms whining as the black gates creaked open for their rightful mistress.

Adora felt questions welling up but didn't bother asking. Answers wouldn't mean anything. Change anything. The urge to ask was a vestigial habit of a person she could no longer be. The last time she had demanded answers, her entire world had shattered. Why invite disaster?

"Welcome home, Adora."

Adora could hardly blame Shadow Weaver for sounding smug. Adora had always deferred or outright refused invitations to move, because she hadn't wanted to leave Catra behind. Now, Catra had left her behind, and there was no reason not to. No reason not to train there. No reason not to do anything anyone asked of her, really.

"This is where you begin anew." Inside the imposing walls was a decidedly unimposing building of dark, stained stone rising up as if grown from the ground. Simple, gray stone steps led up to it. It was a single story with a single tower rising from the back of it and unadorned wood doors at the front.

Around it was nothing but flat, hardened, sunbaked clay seemingly untouched by the acid rain pouring down. Smoother than concrete and stained with the patina of age and use.

The building sprawled out, all angles and strange shapes, as if it had been built around something and then added to. Adora felt a tingle in her bones and an itch under her skin. That unerring instinct warning her what awaited her was far more perilous and perhaps darker than she knew.

Shadow Weaver spread her arms and the bubble extended, creating a corridor between the gates and the doors. "It was the only ruin the First Ones left here, Adora. But you wouldn't know who they are, would you? I restored it and made it my own, collecting and moving other pieces the First Ones left behind."

She folded her hands back in her robes. "Here, you can begin anew. Master those skills you have eschewed and failed at. Learn to become a leader, a force for the freedom of Etheria."

Adora stared down at her boots and scuffed her toe over the clay, hearing and feeling the gates slowly, ponderously closing behind them. She fought for words. Fought for meaning. Fought with herself for anything to matter.

Not much did. Only the sure and certain knowledge she had failed. She had failed Catra. She had failed her squad. She hadn't been the soldier, the warrior, the leader she should have been.

The gates shut with a heavy, echoing grind of metal on metal.

Suddenly, Adora looked up at Shadow Weaver, her steel blue eyes almost bright enough to be glowing as she finally felt more than loss and despair. She felt certainty again, rooted in her unfailing instincts. "What if I don't want to be a leader? What if I want to be a champion? What if I want to save Etheria, but fight alone?"

Hints of a breeze tugged at Shadow Weaver's black hair and rustled her robes. "Do you mean that, Adora? You want to be a follower and not a leader?"

Shadow Weaver's disappointment cut like a knife, revealing another failure. Another defect Adora hadn't to face and acknowledge.

She knew she wasn't worthy to stand before the sanctum. She knew she wasn't worthy of the chance Shadow Weaver offered, but the small ember of ambition and desire to prove herself, the need to do something to help Etheria had never gone out.

She wanted to be worthy. To be ready. But she knew she couldn't be worthy or ready the way she had always wanted.

"I'm not a follower, either." Her instinct hummed with agreement, and she let out a slow breath that was almost, but not quite, relief. "And I know. I know I wanted to prove myself as a Force Captain."

She felt the bitterness of giving up that title and the pride - the naked want - she once had to earn that rank.

Shadow Weaver nodded. "Didn't I promise to help you achieve that, Adora?"

"You did." Adora wondered. Had Shadow Weaver promised her? Or had Adora just thought she had? She shook her head. Shadow Weaver must have, because she had just reminded her of it, and Adora knew most of what Shadow Weaver said ended up being true.

Adora decided to face the truth. Her truth. The truths she hadn't admitted to herself. All of them.

"You did. You gave me every opportunity, and I failed. I know I did! I failed Catra. I failed my squad. I failed you. I failed myself. And you're giving me another chance. I'm not…okay, I am. I'm stupid. I'm the dummy Catra always said I am, and I shouldn't be a leader. I shouldn't follow, either, because I can't do what I need to if someone else is leading. Let's use me right this time. Not a leader. Not a follower. A champion. Just - me."

Adora knew just her would never be enough, but what else did she have to offer the Horde that had taken her in, a baby no one else had wanted?

Shadow Weaver sighed and shook her head, but Adora could feel what felt like anticipation in the air.

"That…is not what I wanted for you, Adora. You have had - missteps, yes. You allowed yourself to be led astray, yes, but you are here now. Do you really want to give up what you have wanted and change paths now?"

Adora stood tall, squaring her shoulders, facing her guardian, putting her back to the sanctum. "Yes. Yes, I do. I want to be a champion. I want to protect the people of Etheria, to fight the Princesses, but I'm not a leader like I thought. I can't a simple soldier, either."

Shadow Weaver paced a few steps in either direction. To the edge of the shield and back. "I cannot let you give up all you have already worked for."

Adora's shoulders slumped, and she was no longer defiant; just pleading. "Please. Let me - let me try?"

Shadow Weaver's drooped. "What you ask... Adora, it is the hardest path in the Horde. It is - lonely, and knowing your suffering after Catra left you, I fear what this path might cost you. You are my responsibility. How could I allow you to make this choice, to do this to yourself? What kind of future is that for you?"

The implication there. The whispered undertone of 'you deserve better' felt like acid, burning and stinging her tattered pride. She didn't. She had failed. Now, she had to try something different, to - salvage something from the ruins of her life!

Adora clenched her jaw and her hands curled into fists. "A better one. One where I sacrifice for once. Where I accept I made her leave. That it was my fault. That I failed. That I wasn't enough. One where I do it better. Do it right. I lost what I wanted to fight for, but I can still give everyone else a chance at what I gave up by being stupid."

By being a complete failure.

Shadow Weaver exhaled. "This is not a path often taken. It will be hard, Adora. Isolating. Painful. A constant struggle. You will have to do more than you ever have. Have less than you have ever been given. You must be absolutely certain!"

Adora laughed softly. "What else do I have to do? I can do this, Shadow Weaver. I can."

Shadow Weaver looked almost - sad? "Very well, Adora. I cannot dissuade you, so I will aid you as best I can, but you must excel! Even I can only intercede with Hordak so much! He is allowing you this one, final chance. Fail again, and I do not know what protection I can offer. But maybe…maybe -I can…"

When she paused, Adora bounced on her toes. She felt a bit of her old energy, her old desire to do. "You can what?"

Shadow Weaver gestured helplessly. "There is only so much I can do to help you on this path, Adora. I can guide you and advise you as I always have, of course, but you must learn magic. If we can use the power within you, I can justify much. If you falter, if you give up because it is hard or painful, we will know the champion's path is not for you."

Adora nodded, slowly and solemnly. She swallowed hard. Magic lessons were - she hated them. Harder than any other training, she always failed, and they always hurt. But if learning magic was the price to be allowed to redeem herself, to help the people of Etheria, then she would.

"I will, Shadow Weaver. I promise."

She hated that word. She really did. She and Catra had made promises to each other, and Catra had broken those promises. But Adora meant her promises, and she wouldn't break hers. Not even the ones to Catra.

"Very well," Shadow Weaver nodded slowly. "I can provide you a teacher. You will do all he asks and more, but you cannot defy him. My hold on him will only convince him to teach you and prevent him from killing you. He once served the nobility of Eternia - a distant land of kings and princesses - and thus he will always be the enemy."

Adora blanched. She knew better than to ask if there was anyone else. She had already pushed Shadow Weaver far enough. Without Shadow Weaver, there was no reason not to send her and other failures on sorties to the Whispering Woods until they broke through to Bright Moon or died in the attempt. (Those squads were the last chance anyone in the Horde had to prove themselves.)

She knew she could do better. "I won't let you down, Shadow Weaver. Not again."

Shadow Weaver nodded, waved her hand, and the door to the sanctum opened.

Chapter Text

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

One week after Catra's abduction

Adora walked through the door.

The corridor in front of her was narrow and tight and the stairs leading down into the temple were slick and narrow and steep. The humid air was heavy with the scent of wet stone and decay and chilled. And as Adora got to the bottom of the stairs, Shadow Weaver closed the doors, leaving them in complete blackness.

She heard the rumble of thunder. She heard the howl of the wind. She heard the hammering rain. She smelled Shadow Weaver a few steps behind her, like Catra had taught her. Burnt herbs and spoiled oils clung to her, no matter what her guardian did.

Shadow Weaver knew Adora wasn't fond of tight, constrained spaces. Knew Adora hated pitch dark. It was her oldest, most visceral fear. Adora had been raised by Shadow Weaver. She knew this was a test. She didn't know if her resolve or her willingness to ask for help was being tested, so she would pass both.

There were only two directions to go - forward, or back outside. If she asked, Shadow Weaver could create light. Ahead of her, there was another door. She held her hand out slightly in front of her to feel for the door.

The corridor sloped sharply down. she tamped down her fear and listened; the echo of her footsteps on the wet stone, the feel of the uncomfortably cold air around her. One step after another, ignoring the urge to walk slowly.

Just before she reached the door - she felt the air change in front of her. She smelled the magic in the air; felt it crackle and tingle over her skin. She felt the space in front of her grow.

So. More to this test than I thought.

She stopped. "You moved the door."

Shadow Weaver laughed softly. "Such a thing to accuse me of, Adora."

Adora steeled herself. If she was wrong, this could hurt. This could end everything she had just convinced Shadow Weaver of. But it was better to fail by trying than fail by doing nothing.

"The air changed in front of me. The distance opened up. I felt the spell; in the air and on my skin, like you taught me. Would you mind creating light? I don't know how you changed the corridor, and you taught me to avoid magical interactions unless I know what I'm doing."

She felt, more than heard Shadow Weaver nod. "Very observant. Are you saying you want to try a light spell of your own, Adora? Despite your difficulties with magic?"

She knew better than to lie to Shadow Weaver. "I am willing to try, if you think it's safe."

Adora didn't really want to try, much less try and fail in a pitch black hallway, trapped and helpless. She didn't really want to learn magic at all. Princesses used magic and it drove them all mad. She knew Shadow Weaver was different because Shadow Weaver had absolute control, but how could Adora ever think she was capable of that?

"No, Adora. My protections would punish you should you try to cast."

Faint red light spread out from Shadow Weave's palm and Adora realized she could barely see the door from where she stood. Another whisper of magic brushed past her, the corridor receded, and the door was less than an arm's length away and already swinging open.

"I hope you will not forget this, Adora. This is but the beginning of the tests and struggles awaiting you."

It was nearly a scolding; a warning and silent recrimination for taking this path in the first place. Hardly unexpected, give how Shadow Weaver felt about Adora's new path.

"I'll show you I can do it, Shadow Weaver. And…thank you for the opportunity. I know I haven't earned it yet. But I will."

Adora spun on her heel - a perfect military turn - and faced the room beyond the door. Far larger than she thought, the gray stone room sprawled in every direction. Brightly lit by glow panels newer and better than any in the cadet barracks. Filled with long stone tables and benches where the elite warriors and sorcerers sat and ate and drank, plates of ration bars and tankards of ale and water and tea in front of them.

There were new colors of ration bars - yellow and white and even a blue! Adora marveled, wondering what they tasted like. She wondered what tea or ale tasted like! The smells in the air were sharp and bitter and sweet all at once, leaving her mouth watering.

She saw Octavia and Grizzlor sitting across from each other laughing and waving their arms at each other. Grizzlor's arm was bandaged under his shoulder and there were scrapes on his snout. Octavia wore an eye patch - Catra had clawed out her eye as a kitten when Octavia had gone after Adora.

She hadn't stopped hating either Catra or Adora since.

Shadow Weaver led Adora towards a table where soldiers and fighters were quietly eating. One of them, Adora had seen around before - a tall, broad shouldered Scorpioni woman with short white hair. Adora remembered her always being scarily cheerful.

"A moment of your time, Force Captain Scorpia?"

Shadow Weaver never had to speak loudly. She never had to raise her voice, but everyone obeyed her. She was a leader. Not Adora.

The woman stood, coming to attention with a clack of pincers and carapace. "Ma'am, yes ma'am. What can I do for you?"

Her voice carried, but not too far. Obviously as eager to please as Adora had once been, she seemed genuinely excited to be acknowledged by Shadow Weaver.

"Force Captain, this is my ward and student, Adora. Make her your responsibility. You will get her settled later. For now, she must meet another new teacher. I believe the bunk over yours is empty?"

Scorpia's smile reached her eyes, and it took Adora a moment to realize Scorpia was smiling at her. "Very happy to, Shadow Weaver! I can come find her later, if you want? I know you're busy and Special Training orientation is important! I have the folder and the manual, and I can give her my old map!"

Shadow Weaver waved her off. "I will ensure she finds you. Consider her the first member of your squad, Force Captain."

Scorpio, if anything, beamed. "Yes, ma'am! I'll make sure we won't disappoint you! We'll do our absolute best for you, won't we Adora?"

From the odd side-eye Scorpia was giving Adora, she was realizing she might have been a tad over-enthusiastic and wasn't sure what to do next.

She wasn't sure why, but Adora rescued her. "That's what I'm here for."

Redemption. I'm here to redeem myself. I'm here to do more than I've ever done before and do it right for once.

"Very well. Thank you, Force Captain. Come, Adora."

Shadow Weaver led Adora deeper into the underground complex, through a maze of corridors and doorways. Adora was grateful for her jacket, because the air got colder the deeper they went. There were no elevators or stairs; just corridors sloping steeply down and curving in spirals.

The deeper they went, the more oppressive the walls felt and the more the smell of fouled water filled her nose.

Finally, they passed through a series of spiked portcullises into a large room flanked by two heavily armored guards. The stone walls were rough-hewn white and yellow; the ceiling was higher and rounded, and there were several doors set on either side of the room. The floor was different; smooth, glossy, polished, dark reddish-brown wood; each plank set firm and tight with the others.

Standing the middle of the room was a tall, stocky man in a pale gray wraparound tunic and loose black pants. He was barefoot and held a heavy length of polished wood in his thick hand. Large fingers curled around the leather wrapping, and his gray eyes were dull and hard. Lank, dark brown hair fell nearly to his shoulders, and he had a heavy beard and mustache streaked with gray.

An iron collar wrapped around his neck, matching iron bands around his wrists.

Adora counted eight Horde soldiers in full armor surrounding him. At least one had a Force Captain's insignia. They were armed with metal staves, shock batons and knives.

Shadow Weaver had Adora stop as the Horde soldiers attacked him, the Force Captain snarling. "Kill the bastard! Expunge our shame!"

Adora watched their techniques as they attacked, thinking the man who was about to die was obviously not her new teacher. Maybe the Force Captain?

The soldiers were fast, but uncoordinated. Sloppy. Adora knew even at their worst, her old squad was better than this. And the Force Captain was at the back of the attacking group?!

The man's short staff whipped through the air fast enough it whistled. He landed three blows on the first attacker before the second got their staff in position to attack. The man simply used his stick to push the first man into the second's blow, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He turned and his savage, powerful kick dropped a third. The blow to the soldier's midsection was hard enough to lift him off his feet and dropped him to the ground. The man in gray dropped his heel onto the back of the soldier's head.

The man stepped and spun, turning. His elbows, his arms, his knees, his hands, even his shoulders were weapons. He moved without pause - no hesitation. Each strike was devastating and had power behind it. In less than a minute, the entire squad was on the ground, groaning - at least, the ones who were still conscious.

The Force Captain wasn't. The man had gone especially hard on him, the stick in his hand a blur of blows as he had calmly beat the Force Captain senseless before allowing him to collapse at his feet.

His voice was gruff and deep and hard. "Coward. Fight with your men, not behind them."

Shadow Weaver sighed and turned, and Adora saw the guard outside nod to her.

The man looked right at Shadow Weaver, scowling. Then turned his back to her, walking to a weapons rack where he meticulously cleaned the staff before carefully replacing it on the rack.

Adora was frozen in place, watching as guards drug the injured soldiers out.

The man didn't turn to speak to Shadow Weaver. "Another failure to beat into submission, witch? Or more pointless pain and ridiculous questions?"

Shadow Weaver laughed. "This is Duncan. Once, a great arms master to a cowardly kingdom of a distant land, beholden to a foolish king and a simpering queen. Hordak had me invite him to enjoy the Horde's hospitality when he tried to infiltrate our sanctums and kill our leaders. Now, he is my guest, for as long as I can hold him. What has it been, Duncan? A year?"

The man still hadn't turned around. "Who gives a fuck, crone? I gave you my word. One day, I will walk out the front door of your precious little temple here, leaving ruin in my wake. And I am a man of my word."

Shadow Weaver seemed inordinately pleased. Adora could feel a smug confidence and almost visceral joy radiating off her.

"Duncan will be your teacher. He will forge you into a warrior worthy of being a champion of the Horde. He will teach you all he knows. Won't you, Duncan?"

This savage warrior was her teacher? She had never seen a single person drop eight soldiers that fast or with that level of skill. Her mouth was dry and her chest felt tight. If he had done that to them - as sloppy as they were - what would he to do her?

The man finally turned, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'll teach none of your thugs, crone. I will -"

Duncan's stopped mid-word. Mid-motion. Mid-breath. His eyes widened and his face paled. His mouth worked, but no words came out. He stared at Adora - like he had seen her a thousand times before and had never expected to see her again. Like he knew her.

Shadow Weaver put a hand on Adora's shoulder. "Never forget, Adora, Duncan is and always will be the enemy. He will teach you, as he is man of his word, but you can never trust him."

"A-Adora?" He said her name like a benediction; shock and awe and emotions Adora had no way to name lacing the word with more feeling than she thought her name had ever been said with.

"Adora." He breathed her name a second time, stepping forward. "I…I am Duncan. I serve yo- "

He gasped, and Adora saw the collar tighten around his neck as it constricted his throat. His hands reached up to claw at it, but the iron bands around his wrist flared with fell red right, holding his hands in place as he choked.

Shadow Weaver sighed. "I know this must seem - unfairly brutal to you, Adora, but you do not know the world outside of the Fright Zone or the lengths our enemies go to in order to kill us, even in our own beds. Or lie to us. Duncan here is forbidden to speak of many things. Things he knows he should not say. All he must do to leave is agree not to reveal what he has learned of us and tell his king and his queen we are no threat to their petty kingdom. Until he agrees, we do what we must to contain him."

Adora hugged herself. Duncan terrified her. He seemed to know her. She wanted - she desperately wanted - to ask Shadow Weaver how he knew her, but the instinct that had never led her wrong warned her to hide her fear. To hide her questions.

Shadow Weaver turned back to Duncan, the light in his eyes fading. "You will teach her, won't you, Duncan? It is a small request for one of your skill. You have taught many warriors, have you not? Teach her as you would teach your Prince or your Princess and make her into what she will become - a champion of the Horde."

Duncan nodded slowly, somehow still on his feet. Astounded, Adora realized he refused to fall. He swayed, but he didn't fall. Tears poured down his face and sweat beaded on his forehead, but his muscles were clenched tight, and he forced air through his constricted throat, each breath a raspy wheeze.

But his eyes had never left Adora. There was so much there she could not name.

"I suggest you keep wild rumors and speculation to yourself."

Fear pooled in Adora' s gut as Duncan's face twisted with rage, but he nodded again.

Finally, Shadow Weaver waved her hand and the collar slowly unwound, leaving angry red welts behind. Duncan brought his hand up to his throat, massaging it gently, trying to breathe normally.

His eyes had never left Adora's. His voice was now a harsh rasp, but he pushed the words out around his bruised throat. "I very much look forward to teaching you, pri - Adora."

Gathering Hall

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

One week after Catra's abduction

Scorpia watched Shadow Weaver and Adora walk away, apprehension and excitement warring for dominance in her chest. She knew a lot of people considered her simple, or outright stupid - mostly because she wasn't dour and sharp-tongued. She looked for joy, the way her mothers had taught her.

If she didn't, she knew she might end up worse than the rest of them.

She also wasn't stupid. Shadow Weaver giving Scorpia responsibility for her ward? That was either gold amidst the muck or a cloud of ill-fortune.

So she waited, because she knew someone was going to say something. With joy came patience. With patience came preparedness. With preparedness came readiness. And readiness never failed her.

When Octavia stood up with a burbled laugh, arms spread wide, tentacles quivering and writhing, a snarling smile tugging at her face, Scorpia wasn't surprised. One of the most recent generation of champions, Octavia was everything the Horde wanted in a champion: sadistic, violent, vengeful, and gleefully antagonistic.

Scorpia had never liked her, but she had always been polite and respectful, because that was also the way the of the nest.

"Be careful, Princess. Or you might end up a lot less pretty." The fishwoman tugged her eye patch. "Adora and her flea-bitten pet aren't to be trusted. They'll trip you in the hall and slit your throat if you don't pat them on the head and tell them they're good girls."

Grizzlor grunted. "Cat's gone. Dunno where. 'S why blondie's here. She's all alone now. No scampering cur to watch her back."

Octavia's second laugh wasn't any better than her first. She hiccupped with a sound like popping bubbles and grinned like a lamprey. "Such terrible news. Little Adora, all alone. I'll have to introduce her to how we do things here and collect on that old debt she owes."

Scorpia cleared her throat. "Maybe not a great idea?"

Sneering at Scorpia, Octavia put her hands on her hips. "What, Princess? Your new little friend cost me an eye. She owes me and I will collect. Don't worry 'your highness,' I'll give her back to you. Most of her, anyway."

Grizzlor and Octavia both chortled. Scorpia felt the faint stirrings of anger - a feeling she didn't like. Anger at Shadow Weaver for putting her in the middle. Anger at Adora and her friend 'Cat' for maiming Octavia. Anger at Octavia for threatening her charge.

She'd heard part of the story; a pair of very young cadets had run afoul of Octavia when she'd tried to mess with them. Probably tried to hurt them, if Scorpia was being honest. Octavia had lost an eye, got transferred to the temple. and been out for blood ever since.

Scorpia kept smiling as Octavia and Grizzlor stopped laughing. Silence fell as people seemed to realize the Scorpioni woman hadn't moved.

She tilted her head. "I'm very sorry that happened to you, Octavia. They shouldn't have done that." She held up a pincer. "Small problem though!" Her voice was cheerful. Warm. Bordering on happy. "Shadow Weaver said she's my responsibility, so maybe you shouldn't collect. Let bygones be bygones. They were kids, you're a bully, it got out of hand. Besides, it'd make things really awkward around here if I have to stop you! I don't want things to be awkward."

Scorpia was still smiling. "Do you?"

Octavia's tentacles whipped out in front of her. "What did you call me?"

"A bully! You know, someone who likes to torment and hurt people they think are weaker than them." Scorpia spread her arms wide, shaking her head. "You might need a new hobby. I don't think you're good at that one if a pair of kids took your eye out!"

Octavia started to take step forward but was cut off by Grizzlor's laugh. "Princess there is right, 'Tavia! You do like hurtin' folk weaker 'n you. Too bad she ain't gonna always be around to mouth off. See, Hordak might like you a fair bit, Princess, but that don't mean nothin' down here. This is Shadow Weaver's place, and we got our own rules. So best run along and hug somethin' b'fore you start a fight you don't want."

Scorpia looked around the room and saw most of the people there were Octavia and Grizzlor's contemporaries, and she knew Shadow Weaver hated it when people made a mess of her temple. Fighting that many would mean a pretty big mess, and she had just gotten the chance to endear herself to the terrifying witch.

If she ever wanted her chance to take care of the little orphans the Horde brought in - the small children who did need hugs and did need someone to teach them to seek joy even in chaos and fire, then she couldn't fight the lot of them. Right now.

"Bold of you to assume I don't want the fight!" Scorpia grinned. "Bolder to think Shadow Weaver doesn't have rules about hurting her ward! Especially right after she got here! It's not like Shadow Weaver has, I dunno, plans or things for Adora, right? No reason she's here, no reason at all!"

Scorpia flexed her arms. Maybe more than she should have, but watching both Grizzlor and Octavia suddenly remember she lifted weights by moving giant slabs of metal around the courtyard instead of in the gym amused her.

Octavia shook her head, blubbering and spitting salty saliva over her table. "Whatever you say, Princess. She'll get hers and so will you. Don't forget - you owe me now, too."

Scorpia sighed and shook her head as the fishwoman stomped off. "I sure do."

On second thought, she wasn't mad at Adora and her friend for taking Octavia's eye. The woman was insufferable and had probably been worse before getting injured and learning a little caution.

Gizzlor rubbed his snout. "Mighty sure of yourself, are you, Force Cap'n? We ain't as easy as all that, even if you was right 'bout Weaver havin' plans for blondie. 'Tavia's not gonna forget and when the time comes, I'mma help her. I'd not get involved, if'n I was you. Might not like it if you do."

Scorpia took one step forward, smiling brightly. "Sounds like fun! I don't get to throw actual people around very often! Who knows? I might get to break my distance record! Gotta go. Lots to get ready for Adora!"

She walked out the same door Octavia had left through. Octavia might be waiting for her, but Octavia had probably run off to fume and sulk instead of ambushing Scorpia. It was her second favorite hobby after making people miserable.

The hallway was empty.

She tried not to be too disappointed in Grizzlor and Octavia. They were products of their environment and hadn't had her moms to teach them. They didn't understand the nest. None of them knew what she knew. About connection. About support. Scorpioni were more communal than fishfolk or Wastelanders. They could still learn though! As long as they didn't force her to get really protective of Adora. It would be hard to learn to seek joy if she was forced to tear their arms off.

She went back to the barracks and into the dorm she shared with about twenty other regular-service soldiers assigned to Shadow Weaver's compound. As the highest ranking soldier, she got the best bunk; near the door and the supply nook, up against a wall! It had power ports, shelf space and wall lockers! She really was spoiled. She even got a real mattress! (Mostly because she destroyed the regular ones.) Adora didn't, but it was still a pretty good bunk. It was wider than standard, because Scorpia couldn't fit into the standard-width bunk.

It didn't take her long to clear her extra gear off the top bunk and strip it. New sheets from the supply cabinet. New pillows. Scorpia got her two. And an extra blanket. It got chilly at night.

She made the bed and grabbed the stuff people had stored in the wall locker. She wasn't sure who it belonged to, so she dropped it on the couch. (She had no idea where people had found the couch, but they had and they kept it clean, so she was fine with it, despite it being against regs.) She laid it all out pretty carefully. No need to damage anyone's stuff.

She checked her chore chart and saw no one had swept the bunk room in a few days. She sighed. She would eventually get people to share the work, but until then, she'd do some of it and have to order others to do the rest. She hated doing that, so she often just did the chores herself. She swept, straightened up a few bunks, tossed a huge mess of dirty laundry down the chute, and did her best to air the place out. Their space didn't have to smell like dead socks just because they were soldiers!

She was barely done cleaning when Adora came in, her duffel slung across her chest, hugging herself. Her blue eyes were wide with shock and probably confusion.

Scorpia was prepared for this! The Horde had rules and systems for everything, including the transfer of personnel to a new location and unit. Namely, hers. Which was a real unit now. Meaning a lot of paperwork. But there was a process. Meaning, even if Scorpia wasn't ready to delve into Adora's situation yet (mostly because she could tell Adora wasn't ready), she knew what to do.

Adora dropped her duffel to the floor saluted with crisp precision and a shaking hand.

Her new cadet needed a hug, but Scorpia was fairly sure the girl might faint if she tried.

Scorpia saluted back, grinned, and pointed with her tail. "That's your bunk, cadet! I'm assuming Shadow Weaver has you all squared away with your assignments and will get us your schedule?"

Adora nodded. "Yes, Force Captain. I know my duties and Shadow Weaver will be setting my schedule. I'm sorry, but um…I don't know what to do next here."

"Not to worry, Adora! Can I call you Adora? Cadet feels very impersonal! And you can call me Scorpia! We need to get the rest of your gear from wherever Shadow Weaver had you stow it and do some paperwork."

"Adora's fine, Force Captain." Adora gave her a wan smile and held up her duffel. "I'm all set for gear. Point me to my shelf and I'll be ready for the paperwork in a minute."

Scorpia blinked. "You really can call me Scorpia. I don't mind. What do you mean, you're set? Is that all you have?"

The blonde girl nodded. "Ayep. All I need is here. Couple of uniforms, power pack for the staff, toiletries, and some keepsakes."

Scorpia gaped. What were they doing over in Cadet Training? "No tablet? Training manuals? More uniforms? Extra boots? Field kit? Record, files, etc?

"My records are all on chip, which I carry with me? I've never had or used a tablet. We had to memorize the regs, and we were never issued training manuals? I get new boots once a year, like always? And what do you mean, a field kit? We always went with what we had or got issued for a mission."

Feeling like she might need to sit down, Scorpia sighed. "Okay. Never mind. Bring your gear. What gear do you need for your training assignments? Never mind. You probably don't know, do you? Who's your training officer? I'll comm them and find out!"

Adora looked a little overwhelmed, so Scorpia - slowly and very gently - turned her towards the door. Adora let herself be guided, but Scorpia noticed she tensed at the touch. She didn't always notice those things - she was a hugger! - but she was trying really, really hard.

"Uhh…my training officer is a very scary man named Duncan, but he's not really an officer, he's sort of a prisoner, I think? And he's really far down, but not in a dungeon, but in this white room?"

Scorpia froze.

Everyone in the Dark Temple knew about Shadow Weaver's prisoners. Everyone knew they lived a strange life of both freedom and purpose, even as prisoners. The best known was Duncan. Shadow Weaver and Hordak used him as both a test and punishment for Horde soldiers. Those soldiers who failed badly enough had the chance to face him - and if they defeated him, they avoided the fate of being sent to the worst parts of Etheria. Or worse - Subtheria.

The strange, eldritch world below the surface where ancient beings, dark bastions of forgotten magic, and civilizations that had never seen the sun thrived. It was a subterranean slaughterhouse.

No one had defeated him.

Hearing her new, small blonde cadet had been assigned to train with the most dangerous warrior Shadow Weaver had imprisoned had made her tail twitch.

"What?!"

Adora shrugged. "I get it. I met him. But Shadow Weaver barely agreed to let me try. Learn magic from her and he teaches me to fight. Given my recent record, I took the deal. Sorry, Force Captain. You're stuck with me. A mess and a failure."

She flinched as she said it, as if expecting a harsh response, but Scorpia saw the defeated, broken look on her face and her instincts took over. She grabbed Adora in a tight hug. She crushing the girl against her, lifting her off the floor.

"You're not a failure! You might have had problems before, but you're here now! You have me and Shadow Weaver is letting you try and it's going to be okay!"

Adora made a strange, strangled sound and Scorpia quickly let her go, rubbing at the back of her head. "Sorry! I forget my own strength. I'm kind of a hugger?"

Adora carefully rolled her neck and shoulders. "I noticed. So. What's next, Force Captain?"

"Paperwork. Equipment. A map! This place is a crazy maze! I don't know if Duncan's room is on the map, but we can figure it out, I promise! Come on!"

Scorpia - gently! - took Adora's wrist in one of her pincers and drug the girl out of the bunk room.

It was exactly as easy as Scorpia predicted. No one had sent the admin office any notes about her getting responsibility for a cadet, the words 'Shadow Weaver said…' got things moving quickly. In short order, they were filling out forms, getting issued their very own unit designation, equipment, manuals for running a unit (Adora was technically second-in-command), given new ID chips, and authorization codes.

Next was the quartermaster. Scorpia was able to get Adora a field kit, toiletries, spare uniforms and boots, a tablet, chip copies of the manuals, and new weapons - she kept her trusty staff, but got issued a stun baton and combat armor. Scorpia was especially impressed when saw the list of all the equipment Adora was qualified to use.

Scorpia, of course, helped Adora carry it all back. "How do you think you're a failure? You're qualified for skiff and tank! You have tactical field command qualifications! You're scout qualified, small squad qualified, and you're what, seventeen?!"

Adora tugged her ponytail. "Fifteen. I mean, I did all that stuff, sure, but I failed my squad. And I failed…" She stared down at her feet. "I failed a lot. That's why I'm here. Start over. Try again. Do better. Be better."

"Adora…" If Scorpia's arms weren't full of gear, she would be hugging Adora again. This is why she wanted to be in charge of the little ones. No one hugged them enough or told them they were amazing enough when they were small. And it showed.

Adora shrugged.

When they got back, Adora stared up at the top bunk with an odd expression. Longing? Sadness?

Why would a bunk make her sad?

Adora climbed up and stowed her gear with remarkable precision, noting down everything she had been issued in neat, tiny script in a pocket notebook. (Scorpia needed to teach her to use her tablet.)

She sat cross legged, sorting toiletries and setting small objects on the headboard shelf. Each item was placed carefully and reverently. They looked nonsensical to Scorpia.

A small, red stone dragon figurine. A cracked sensor cover from a simulation bot. A delicate silvery bracelet with small purple stones. A long braided red leather cord. A small, ornate knife with an empty slot for a power cell. An amber shot glass. An odd, angular, red metal mask.

The last, she held in her hands and stared at before placing it behind the others.

"So, uhh…anything else you need there, Cadet Adora, or are you settled?"

"I'm good, Force Captain. Except…" she trailed off, tugging her ponytail again.

"Except what? Come on, give me a chance! I bet I won't even be mad, and I bet it's easy to get!"

"Any drinking water? I know the faucet water probably isn't potable, but I get really thirsty sometimes, and…" she trailed off again, staring at her hands, which gripped each other so tightly her knuckles were white.

Water was precious in the Horde; much of it was tainted with heavy metals and corrosive chemicals. Cleaning it was arduous, complex, and delicate.

"That's easy! Come on. I'll show you!"

Scorpia eagerly showed Adora the water tank and the metal bottles in the supply nook. "We each get four bottles day. It's good, clean water."

"Thanks, Force Captain." Adora filled four bottles and took them back to her bunk, setting them in a row on the shelf near the keepsakes. Scorpia didn't understand why she looked like she was going to cry when she did.

Chapter Text

Infirmary

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

One Week after Catra's abduction

Today. Results come in today.

Meaning, it was time for Lyra go. A flicker of illusion to leave the image of herself behind and a whisper of magic to cloak herself, and the Queen was sneaking off - again.

Today, they have to admit I'm right.

Lyra knew she was overly dramatic. She even admitted it, from time to time. It was one of her best qualities, after all.

Not that her advisers agreed with her. They much preferred Lyra behave like the Queen, not a tempestuous, hot-headed, overly-emotional sorceress. Learning to deal with her as a mother was proving their undoing. Especially considering her daughter had been raised by the enemy and tried to kill her.

Really. What did they expect? She would want headpats and a snack? She shook her head as she ducked away from her normal entourage, having managed to get them urgently and earnestly debating something not important enough for urgency, much less earnest effort.

(They really were taking C'yara's rampage through the Castle far too personally.)

They meant well, and she was exceedingly fond of all of them. She couldn't run Halfmoon without them. Many were honorary aunts and uncles or friends she grown up with who sometimes knew her better than she knew herself. Others were scholars and experts and leaders in their fields.

They all wanted the best for Halfmoon. They were also (as far as she knew) loyal to Halfmoon. Some were even loyal to her!

But for all the grace they'd given her this week as she'd run the country from C'yara's bedside in the Castle infirmary, they were quite ready for things to be normal again.

Some of her advisers obviously missed the days when the Queen would just be in 'one of her moods.' All they had to do was keep her from going into the caves and picking a fight with the Horde or challenging particularly annoying nobles to a duels during important meetings.

Instead of sneaking off to see her daughter or forcing them to come to her in the infirmary to dispense with important business.

She was very sorry they felt that way. She was the Queen. She was still an impulsive sorceress. She was also a mother whose daughter had come home and needed her. They were just going to have to compromise and do things her way.

C'yara was home. Likely sent by a manipulative witch to kill her, but that felt like a distant concern to Lyra. The Horde was one of many evils plaguing Halfmoon. Imminent threats lurked inside the city - in her own Castle! Which is why a lot of people were going to be mad at her for ditching her guards again.

(It wasn't like she needed them, and Lyra firmly believed people should be used to it by now.)

Lyra wasn't stupid. She knew the traitors wanted her dead and her people serving the Horde. She knew there were probably a half dozen assassination plots at any given time. She also knew there was no real way to protect herself from those plots - or from an all-out attack.

She also knew she made things harder on the traitors by being unpredictable - which, she hadn't been the last week. Everyone knew where to find her. She was okay with that, because if any of them tried to harm C'yara, Lyra would burn them to ash. Then she would overreact and arrest everyone who had ever spoken to anyone vaguely connected to the traitors.

Not her daughter. Not again.

Catra. Lyra sighed. Her child didn't know her given name - she had been raised with the name Catra. She needed to remember that. Respect it; it was how she thought of herself, after all.

Lyra didn't want to think too hard on what else her daughter thought of herself. Her casual disregard for the value of her own life made Lyra's indulgences in defiance seem far pettier than they felt. Her casual disregard of her own worth made her want to muster all of Halfmoon and storm the surface. To burn the Fright Zone and the Horde to the ground.

She would, too. If not for the same problem they'd always had. Her magicats had the will. The heart. The skill. They didn't have the numbers, and the Princess Alliance had fallen before it had managed to do more than stall the Horde's advance, much less help Halfmoon, half a world away. (Privately, she admitted accomplishing even that much was damned impressive.)

She slipped into the infirmary, ghosting a shimmer of magic past the duty nurse. The older woman rolled her eyes. "Good afternoon, your majesty. How soon should I expect the advisory inquisition and your panicked guards?"

Lyra let her outline flicker into being and shrugged. She had no idea how long it would take. It would depend on how long it took them to notice her illusion. This time. It wasn't like they didn't know where to find her!

She saw the door to C'yara's - Catra's - room was open and someone was inside. The guards were still there, but they had no idea she was. (The wards Lyra had set on the room allowed her through while cloaked in magic - maybe another monarch or a sorceress like Castaspella of Mystacor or Micah of Bright Moon might have managed to elude them. But not undetected.)

She hated the necessity of guards to protect Catra from threats she didn't know about yet, but Lyra wondered - did Catra know the guards were for her protection and not to imprison her?

Catra didn't know about the traitors still lurking in Halfmoon, spreading whispers inspiring dreams of conquest, hopes for a renaissance of power by allying with the Horde. Foolish hopes and incipient nightmares of a future the traitors were too blind to understand.

It hadn't been easy to find two guards willing to watch over the Princess. Most of the Halfmoon Guard and the medical staff were either terrified of or infuriated with her daughter.

It irritated her. Her underfed, injured, half-blind teenage daughter should not have managed to fight her way out of the infirmary, much less through her guards so easily. No matter how skilled she was, it should have at least been harder. And Lyra still wasn't convinced setting the Guard on her had been right.

And they were mad at C'yara about it?

In the meantime, the guard and medical staff treated her daughter like she was feral.

They're going to have to get over it. Very soon. Like, yesterday. Or I will start losing my temper.

So many mistakes had been made that day. Lyra refused to allow any more.

She had coerced the doctor checking on C'yara out of retirement to ensure she got proper treatment. He had to be pushing two hundred, but he was still the most gifted physician and magical healer in Halfmoon.

The cool, dark room didn't feel nearly as welcoming as personal quarters would have been, but she knew - in her bones - the doctors weren't wrong about C'yara needing serious medical care before she integrated into Halfmoon.

But every hour that went by without her daughter back home - with her - fed Lyra's impatience and frustration.

The doctor didn't look up from his tablet. "She's sleeping, your majesty."

Lyra sighed and dropped her cloak. Hiding from the old doctor was almost impossible. "I can see that, Lenio."

Old or not, Lenio was a powerful sorcerer and all but impossible to sneak up on. His fur was more gray than red, but his powers had not diminished with age - which the traitors would discover if they dared attack his patient.

The old man laughed. "Then what are you doing here, Lyra? She will go home this evening, at the earliest. Tomorrow is more likely."

"She's my daughter." Lyra stood a few steps away from C'yara's bed, knowing getting too close would wake her - if she wasn't awake already. C'yara - Catra! - feigned sleep frighteningly well. And slept very lightly.

She wasn't under the covers. She kicked them off, as if she couldn't stand even that much restraint. She was curled into a ball in the corner of bed, making herself as small as she could while she slept.

Lyra longed to reach out and stroke her hair. Grab her hand. Something - anything to anchor her to the reality her kitten lived and breathed and was home.

"So you keep saying. You're that damn sure, are you? I see that look on your face. You believe, but belief isn't truth."

Lyra shook her head, still smiling at Catra. "It's not belief, Lenio. I know. You will too, when your test results come back."

She knew. She had no doubts Catra was her daughter. She doubted her ability to connect with her daughter.

The teenager in the infirmary was so different than the girl taken from her so long ago. It wasn't that she was dangerous - which she was. It was the level of commitment she'd had to her one-girl rampage. From what Catra told Lyra, she'd been undirected, confused - gaining focus and momentum with each fight. Each encounter cementing her frightening resolve, determination driving her through halls she'd once chased her father through.

Now she was silent, asleep in the infirmary. No longer hooked up to as many machines and so many bags of medicine and fluids - just a single IV. She didn't look much different to Lyra; she was still too thin. Too gangly, for all that she moved like a predator and fought like a demon. Her fur lacked luster and volume, and she wasn't even shedding the thin, coarse fur she had. Her eyes were sunken; her face looked hollow.

My daughter. What did they do to you?

C'yara - Catra - had been more hurt, more sick than Lyra had realized when she'd collapsed in her arms. Malnourished. With both scars and fresh wounds from some kind of lightning.

"Well, Lenio?" The Queen was trying to be patient. She was. She was just very short on it.

The doctor looked up, sharp, pale yellow eyes piercing her. "I'm old. Not addled. Anything new I tell you would send you into a panic, and you're the Queen. You don't get to panic. Worry, yes. Fret, yes. Nag your old doctor about test results, yes."

Lyra bit back the urge to sigh. "The scars on her claws?"

C'yara - Catra - had fine, almost invisible scars on her fingers and toes that concerned the Queen more than the doctors, but getting scans of Catra had taken a great deal of persuasion.

Her daughter was terrified of doctors. Another reason her child had spent five days hooked up to bags of medicine and intravenous nutrition, suffering the misery of getting years of vaccinations in mere days, and the indignity of seemingly endless tests.

It seemed Catra hadn't had any kind of real medical care since leaving Halfmoon.

Lenio grumbled. "I'll tell you in a damn minute, Lyra. As soon as I do, I'll never get your attention back. The doctor who saw her when Akrash brought her in - Arashu. The one a few doors down, still moaning about a few scratches on his chest. What's your verdict on him?"

Lyra winced. She knew the infirmary was filled with Guards who were recovering from her daughter's fight through the Castle, and she felt some guilt about that. Not as much as she probably should have, given how the guard had kept going after her despite Lyra saying it was a bad idea.

I should have made it an order. And they should have listened. Imagine, hunting a teenager for being scared and alone, thinking she was fighting free of being kidnapped.

She had visited all the injured over the course of the week and thanked them for their service. She was a frightened mother desperate to have her child back home, but she was still a Queen.

"I have - my own opinions, Lenio. However, I am hardly unbiased!"

Lenio growled just under his breath. "Never you mind, then."

This time, Lyra did heave a sigh. "Lenio, that was an invitation to stop chewing on it and tell me what you think."

His tail whipped twice and his ears pinned back. "Lyra. As far as I can tell, that idiot did everything wrong. He shouldn't be practicing first aid, much less medicine! She was drugged, locked in magical stasis for days as she was carted from the Fright Zone to Halfmoon. He didn't check vitals or finish looking her over before lighting salt incense - a folk remedy for stasis spells - instead of waiting for a sorcerer. Now, he's got the unmitigated gall to act offended she clawed him when she woke up? We have protocols he ignored and he ignored Akrash telling them she's a trained soldier!"

Lyra winced. Lenio wasn't wrong - a lot of pain, suffering, and injuries could have been avoided.

"You have strong opinions on Arashu, then you make the decision and I'll support it. I'll re-appoint you Royal Physician this afternoon so you can. Now, what is it you're not telling me?"

"Good. I'll take the job and I'll deal with him. And her claws are prosthetics."

Lyria's breath hissed through her teeth as she looked up at the doctor. "What?"

Now she saw why he'd hesitated. At some point, her daughter had been declawed. An atavistic shiver crawled down her spine, and her fur puffed up. Her tendons tensed, claws extending and retracting, as if to make sure they were there.

"Expertly done, from what I can see. Almost no scar tissue. No jagged growth lines. Fully integrated, as if they were a part of her - which means serious magic. Which makes no damn sense, given how bad off she was. Internal and external parasites, including a kind of lice I've never heard of before. We asked, and she knows she has prosthetics, but hasn't said a damn thing other than to mock me for assuming she might not know."

Lyra almost laughed. C'yara - Catra - had inherited her sharp tongue.

"Nothing wrong with my claws. It's fine." Lyra saw Catra's eyes open slowly, meeting hers. For a brief, unguarded moment, there was wonderment and awe and affection there - quickly shrouded as her child fully woke up. "Unlike the rest of me, according to doc over there."

Lyra slowly extended her hand, giving Catra plenty of time to pull away. She often had, the first couple of days. Now, she seemed to almost want affection. At least, from Lyra. Anyone else who touched her was taking their safety into their own hands.

Lyra slid her fingers through Catra's hair, her fingertips pressing lightly into her scalp. Catra pressed into the touch, but she didn't purr. In the week Catra had been home, Lyra hadn't heard her purr.

It made her heart ache.

Lenio huffed. "Now that she's awake, I can tell you about the genetic tests. But you think you don't need them."

"I don't." Lyra shrugged. "She is my daughter. Your tests are just - record keeping."

Catra pressed harder against Lyra's hand; there was a near desperation to it, as if what Lyra had said meant far, far more than Lyra understood.

Lenio smiled. "So you keep saying. But magic can do remarkable things, your majesty. Such as change someone's eyes to make them heterochromatic. But! You are not wrong. You, young lady, were born C'yara Dr'iluth. Welcome home, princess."

Catra looked up at him and shrugged. It was obvious she had absolutely no idea how to respond. "I don't even know where I am. Be nice if you ever got around to, I don't know, explaining things, now that you know I'm not some kind of stray?"

"No." Lyra spoke softly, but intently. "No! Even if you weren't my daughter, you are a magicat and this is Halfmoon. You would be welcome here. You would have a home here, if you wanted it. You are not a stray or - …no, Catra. No."

Lyra didn't even think. She just held her daughter to her, sitting on the side of her bed, her own purr rumbling up from her chest as she fought back tears for the thousandth time. At the scent and feel of her daughter so close to her.

Catra leaned back into her. "Yeah, okay…I mean, thanks?"

The doctor sighed. "Your mother is a soft heart, your highness. She is much more emotional than the rest of us. You'll learn how to deal with it eventually. The rest of us have."

Lyra snorted, trying to ignore Catra flinching at being called 'your highness.' That was a problem for later. "Says the man who cries at every kitten he's ever delivered."

Lenio waved her off. "Catra, you are - medically speaking - a hot mess. Most worrisome is enough electrical damage we had to use some fairly exotic potions to clean up. You need to drink more, eat more, and slow down - don't think I haven't seen you practicing and exercising in here when you think I'm too busy to notice."

Catra shivered again when the doctor mentioned potions. She sat up with a boneless grace, careful not to pull away from Lyra as much as just adjust - as if Catra hadn't wanted to break the contact.

Lyra silently reveled in that small connection. That small sign she might get to have a relationship with her daughter after all.

Catra shrugged. "Practice is important." There was a note in her voice, as if she were quoting someone else. "Electrical damage. Yeah. That tracks. That was the shots that made me hate my life for three days?"

Lyra knew Catra wasn't exaggerating. She'd seen Catra's nausea and misery as the vaccines and other medicines had done their work.

"No. Those were vaccines, Catra. You know - medications that prevent you from getting deathly ill. I take it the Horde doesn't have those?"

Catra snorted. "The Horde is a lot of things, especially 'efficient,' doc. They have vaccines. Just not for me or - " Catra cut off suddenly, her mouth shutting with almost audible clack of teeth, biting back a name.

Lyra didn't press. She wanted to; this wasn't the first time Catra had stopped herself from saying a name. Lyra figured it was just one name and whoever it was mattered a great deal to her daughter.

She desperately wanted Catra to trust her enough to share it with her - but she knew. It would take time.

Lenio continued. "The IV drips were the potions. And antibiotics, anti-parasitics. Electrolytes. Hydration. Vitamins, minerals, and other things your body desperately needs. Your biggest problem, other than what I swear is a genetic refusal to rest, is your lack of protein - how you managed to develop strength and speed without it…what do they feed you there, that your system is this deficient, and you're not half-dead?"

"Ration bars?" Catra looked between the doctor and her mother. "You know. Grey, brown, red. Chewy bars? Food? Taste even worse than the gruel you've been feeding me while my stomach has been a mess?"

Lenio was looking at Catra aghast. "They fed you what? Nothing other than…?"

Catra shrugged. "We got treats, sometimes, when there was extra? Apples and cinnamon once a year, on Founding Day. Cheese, once, but - that didn't agree with me too well."

Apples were one of the few fruit crops the Horde could still grow. Lyra knew that much. And giving a magicat cheese? Who thought that was a good idea?

Lenio stared at her, appalled. "Barbarians. Absolute barbarians. How do you raise children feeding them - I am going to send a strongly worded letter to the Horde. Just you watch. I'll do it."

"Send a letter. To the Horde. Can you even do that?" Catra gaped at him. "Do you think they'll notice a letter?"

Lenio sat up straight and proper. "I am a doctor and I am old. I can scold anyone well enough they'll feel bad. Now then! You can get out of here tomorrow and move into a real room. Probably close to your mother's, if I can take a guess. You have a long recovery ahead of you and a lot to learn. Feel free to come find me. I'll be here, yelling at people. Apparently, since I retired, people in this infirmary got stupid and I need to fix it before I retire again."

Lyra almost laughed. Lenio had been retired less than five years. It seemed, he wasn't planning on going back to his retirement - for which she was deeply grateful. Especially given she had had been one of those pushing him to retire five years ago.

Catra shrank back away from what Lenio was saying, but Lyra knew he was doing it on purpose. Giving her the good and bad news right up front. She wasn't just a lost magicat returned home.

She was a lost Princess returned to her people; her life would never be the same, and while it wasn't fair, a lot would be expected of her.

A lot sooner than anyone wanted.

Shadow Weaver's Office

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Two Weeks after Catra's abduction

Scorpia walked into Shadow Weaver's office.

No one went into that office. No one wanted to. Officially, if Shadow Weaver was in her office, she was available for meetings. She was there sporadically, but word spread fast when she was in her office. Mostly, because people avoided that hallway when she was. Walking into that office to talk to Shadow Weaver was not a choice many willingly made.

Scorpia was making that choice. Not just because she had questions for Shadow Weaver, but because she wasn't going to risk meeting the sorceress in the Black Garnet Chamber. (Hordak had never allowed her to move the RuneStone to the temple.)

Not only did Scorpia know enough not to meet with a sorceress in her place of power, she didn't want anything to do with the corruptive darkness of a RuneStone. Especially not the one responsible for almost destroying her people.

She'd gotten Adora's schedule. It made no sense. Nor did any of the standing orders in her records. Nothing made sense anymore, and Scorpia had to deal with it.

The office Shadow Weaver never used was almost empty. The stone room was lit by a single, bright lamp swinging overhead. The desk was metal and the chair in front of it was metal. The air smelled of dust and dried, bitter herbs, and Shadow Weaver herself stood behind the desk. Behind her was a long stone table replete with magical implements and ingredients, with smolder braziers on either end.

At a gesture from Weaver, Scorpia sat. Weaver remained standing. Scorpia wasn't even sure there was a chair on that side of the desk.

The sorceress sounded amused. "What do you want my help with, Force Captain? Do you, perhaps, have questions about your assignment?"

Scorpia did have a lot of questions about Adora. She understood her assignment; probably more than Shadow Weaver wanted her to. But she wasn't about to ask them. She knew better, and wasn't going to draw Shadow Weaver's attention to her in that way.

She had figured out Shadow Weaver a long time ago. Manipulative, power hungry, narcissistic, sadistic, and consumed by hubris and ambition. Everything she did had layers. Reasons. Except when it didn't; then it was capricious and malignant whim exercised for the dark, savage joy of seeing someone else hurt.

But nothing that would affect her plans. Nothing that would interfere.

It made it easy to answer her, because carefully curated truth was Weaver's weapon. Scorpia knew better than to lie. Or obfuscate. Her defense would be confusion, her very real desire to do right by her cadet, and her earnest devotion to duty.

"A few? Nothing serious! Some - clarifications, maybe? It's not like I know how to train a cadet who's learning magic!"

Shadow Weaver laughed softly. "You are no doubt correct about your ignorance of magic and how to teach it, Force Captain."

Scorpia fidgeted a bit, tugging at her uniform. "This isn't a normal training assignment, is it? I know Adora's - different. Special. I know what's expected of me with a standard cadet, even a command cadet. I would like to know what's expected of me with Adora, ma'am. I want to do my best work for the Horde."

Shadow Weaver was silent for a long moment, and while she stared at Scorpia from behind her mask, shadows grew and coalesced around her. Scorpia felt a rush of fear and knew her eyes widened, and for a split second, she wondered: Is this it? Is this how I go out?

The shadows became a chair, rising up to conform to Shadow Weaver as she sat. "What makes you think this assignment is different, Force Captain?"

Scorpia knew a trick question when she heard one. This one was designed to make her reveal what she thought she knew and pose theories and even reveal things about Adora Shadow Weaver might not know. And refusing to answer or saying 'we both know she is' wouldn't work either.

Scorpia knew she wasn't smart enough or canny enough to bandy words with Shadow Weaver, so she decided to rely on something she knew very well. Regulations and rules - the law and order and systematic protocols and processes of the Horde.

She already had her list memorized.

"Cadet Adora was not transferred via any standard process established within the Horde military structure. She did not matriculate from her previous training command. She did not arrive at her new training duty station with standard gear or an appropriate number of uniforms, nor did she participate in any orientation classes or receive any standard documentation for her new posting. As her commanding officer, I have reviewed her records, and noted many nonstandard qualifications, as well other inconsistencies, including the near complete redaction of her medical file. Her assigned training in magical knowledge and skills is nonstandard. There is no path of study listed. No magical disciplines listed. There is no instructor listed, but you told me yourself you will be training her - the highest ranking and most accomplished sorceress in the Horde. Her combat training is simply listed as 'Champion,' but she's not assigned to any training cadre or classes - her instructor is listed as 'special,' which turns out to be a very scary but very effective prisoner from someplace called Eternia - which I can't find on any map or any reference to in any record I have access to. Per your standing orders, as filed in her records, she is not subject to standard drills, standard inspections, standard medical screenings - or most other standard review procedures as outlined in Horde military regulations. All of this has led me to believe she is a special case, and thus, I needed to ask you - because you assigned her to me - about what my responsibilities are regarding Cadet Adora, because I really, really don't want to mess this up."

She really, really didn't want to fail Adora and see her cadet hurt or worse because she didn't know what she was doing. She just had to somehow trick Shadow Weaver into letting her actually help Adora instead of just being a glorified babysitter and bodyguard.

Just convince the canniest, sneakiest, most dangerous person in the Horde (other than Hordak) to let her do her job. Easy.

She hoped she wasn't visible sweating.

Scorpia gave in to her impulses as she caught her breath. She really shouldn't have said all of that in one breath. Or quite that fast. But if she stopped talking now, she'd lose her momentum, and then she'd end up tripping over her own words. "As you know, ma'am, I want to be assigned to creche training. It's why I was assigned to your Special Training Command in the first place, so I could get specialized experience and knowledge, and since Cadet Adora is my first cadet, I want to make sure I do things right to ensure I am deemed suitable for that posting, when it becomes available."

Scorpia knew, somewhere deep in her - she wouldn't ever be assigned to the creche. Being assigned to Adora had changed the entire trajectory of her career, her life - everything. Her mothers had taught her to observe and pay attention when the ground shifted around you. The ground hadn't stopped shifting since the day Shadow Weaver had given her responsibility for Adora.

She knew she was going to have to give up her ambitions, at least for awhile. At least, until she found out what was supposed to happen next. What Adora was meant for. What Shadow Weaver had planned. Until then, the closest she could come to what she wanted to do was protect and take care of Adora - if the girl would let her.

Her mothers had taught her how to deal with manipulators, too. They had been raised by her grandfather, and his deceitful nature in his later years meant they had been experts. She knew telling Shadow Weaver what she wanted gave the old witch leverage, but Scorpia knew without leverage, Shadow Weaver wouldn't be as willing to make concessions. If she thought she had leverage, Shadow Weaver would let Scorpia have a few things - if only for the ability to take them away later.

Shadow Weave folded her hands on the desk. "Everything you said is true, Force Captain. Do you object to any of those things?"

Scorpia thought about it, then nodded. "No objections, ma'am. Concerns. You are second-in-command. If this is how you want things done, then it's how I do things." Scorpia didn't have many choices about that. "I have reservations about Cadet Adora not having been issued the proper gear. Not having equipment and uniforms can interfere with her raining. Something that needs to be taken up with the admin and Quartermaster of her previous command, I guess, and is a bit below your rank. I've already fixed it, anyway! I also have concerns about her not receiving regular medical screenings. There are a lot of diseases and ways to get sick living here, and…" she took a deep breath. She was trying to get Shadow Weaver to tell her things, not getting sad about her mothers and her people! "…I want her to be in good health. Especially under my command!"

Shadow Weaver nodded. "You are not wrong about how things should be done, Force Captain. However, I will see to it administration and the Quartermaster are made aware of your concerns, and request a review of all cadet equipment issued and ensure everyone is properly equipped. I believe I could also request our Quartermaster be more generous with non-standard equipment for you and Adora, as her training - and thus your duties - are nonstandard. Would that address your concerns?"

Scorpia nodded. If Shadow Weaver actually did, then she was very satisfied. She had an odd feeling; Shadow Weaver had made direct statements. She talked around things. Suggested. There was a different bite to her voice - a deep dissatisfaction not aimed at Scorpia. Had she accidentally stumbled on something Shadow Weaver hadn't known about?

That was worth thinking about and following up on.

Shadow Weaver sighed and waved her hand, suddenly looking weary. "I will not argue your concerns about Adora's health. I too want my ward to be healthy, Force Captain. Adora was seen regularly enough in the infirmary I dispensed with standard yearly checks and physicals, as they weren't necessary. Would your concerns be assuaged if I arranged for a standard physical exam with a doctor cleared for her medical records?"

Scorpia sat up straighter. That was more than she'd expected, and she wouldn't turn it down. "It would, ma'am. Very much so. I would appreciate it." She didn't thank Shadow Weaver, and wouldn't until it was done.

No one was owed thanks for implying it would be possible for a grievous oversight to be corrected when they were responsible for the oversight. That Adora had been in the infirmary enough Shadow Weaver felt yearly exams weren't necessary was worrying. Scorpia would have a list of questions for the doctor - and the doctor would answer.

"Very well, Force Captain. It can be arranged. I will also arrange for more of her medical information to be available to you. You are not incorrect that Adora's health and well being are your responsibility. As for your initial question: Adora is a special cadet. She has skills and potential other cadets do not. You already know this. Standard training will not help her achieve her potential, any more than it would have you. You should be aware, however - her current course of training at her own request. As I told Adora when I transferred her from her previous unit, I intended her to continue pursuing the rank of Force Captain. There were no preparations made for her to become a Champion. I made it happen when she pleaded her case to me. Why would I not want the best for my ward? The prisoner is an effective trainer, and the only one I have available who can teach the skills Adora wishes to learn in the way she needs to learn them. Unless you think someone like Octavia or Grizzlor would be more effective?"

Scorpia flinched at that. She wished she hadn't, but the very idea of that was chilling. "No! No, ma'am, I don't think that would work out well."

For Octavia or Grizzlor. The first time one of them tried to hurt Adora, Scorpia wouldn't hesitate to stop them. However she had to.

Scorpia decided it was time to give the sorceress another tidbit. Something to make it seem like Scorpia was buying into things. She had no idea if she was fooling the powerful woman, but she was going to try to at least hide her doubts. "It helps the prisoner fights like the Princesses. We'll learn a lot about how they think and fight, and I think by the time Adora's field-ready, she'll know enough to be able to predict their tactics and counter some of their more effective fighters, like Bright Moon's General."

Shadow Weaver leaned forward. "Astutely observant, Force Captain. Why should we waste a resource like our dear Duncan when he can help us? I think you know what I want. I think you knew before you walked in here, but you wanted it confirmed. Wise, if an interesting choice. So tell me: what do you think your responsibilities are?"

Scorpia almost crowed. She had been hoping for this. Her chance to set some of her own rules, and have Shadow Weaver enforce them on her. But Scorpia could use it to protect her cadet, because it seemed no one had bothered to before.

"To make sure Adora is ready to be a champion of the Horde. To fight the champions of the Princesses, if not the Princesses themselves. It's why you chose me, I think. Because like Adora, I'll have the ability to deal with those kinds of battles."

She hated it, but she knew she wasn't wrong. Why she knew she would never get creche training duty. She too strong, too skilled, and somewhat resistant to magics. At least, direct spells.

Scorpia spread her arms a little wider, trying to show openness. She kept her tail still and curled, stinger down.

"My job is making sure her training is as complete as possible. After a week of evaluation, I have a list of areas Cadet Adore requires further training in."

Shadow Weaver actually laughed. It was an amused, indulgent sound; the laugh of someone who knew they had all the power. "Do tell, Force Captain. Where do you think Adora is deficient?"

Scorpia steeled herself. "Not deficient, ma'am. Her training is hardly complete. Every area Adora is trained in, she excels at. But Adora needs further training in the standard practices and culture of the Horde. Some of our history. How the Horde came to be and what Hordak has done for my people. How my grandfather's choice condemned so many of us to death."

Shadow Weaver gestured for Scorpia to continue, remaining conspicuously silent. "In addition to maintaining her training schedule with you and the Eternian, she needs some academics. We can find the time, especially if it's only one day every couple of weeks. The same with maintaining her current qualifications in things like tanks, skiffs, and heavy weapons."

"And what, exactly, Force Captain, would she be studying? Who, might I ask, would be instructing her in such?"

Scorpia smiled widely. "I can tutor her myself! She's a cadet and I'm a trainer! A refresher in math and writing. She will need languages, basic tech training. Basic field medicine. Some basic Etherian history and culture to round her out. Champions must know their enemy and cannot be reliant on support units. Basic survival training. Obviously, any magical texts and study would be the highest priority for her free days, but there's no reason she shouldn't know the basics, right?"

Shadow Weaver gestured as if bored. "If you think so, I will arrange it. You know your responsibilities well, Force Captain. Supervise her training. Ensure she is given every opportunity to succeed and prevent any interference you can. You are dismissed, though I am sure we will speak again."

Scorpia stood and saluted. "Of course, ma'am. Happy to help!"

Scorpia left the room with a smile on her face. She hadn't gained much, but she'd gained enough to start.

Chapter Text

Catra's Quarters

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two weeks after Catra's abduction

Two weeks.

Catra had been in Halfmoon for two weeks, and she still hadn't come to terms with anything she'd been through. She was a Princess. The daughter of a Queen.

She had a mother.

It was surreal. Like waking up from a nightmare into a dream. She wouldn't think it was real if not for how awful she still felt. If not for Adora's absence every morning.

She had spent the last two weeks in a castle. Where, apparently, she was supposed to live. The castle she lived in was hers. At least, partially. She hadn't been outside the castle yet. She was still recovering her strength, and she wasn't sure she was ready to face the rest of Halfmoon.

Especially because they knew who she was, and she didn't know anything about them. It was a given everyone would know her; in one of her brief and infuriating talks with Akrash, he had made sure to let her know the news had spread.

The news that Catra, the rejected, discarded failure of the Horde, the oddity, the mystery was a magicat, a citizen of the nation of Halfmoon and a stars-damned Princess. She had been born C'yara Dr'iluth, the only child of Queen Lyra and King-Consort Cyrus. She had been loved. She had been wanted.

She had been missed. She had been mourned.

Just as she knew she was being missed. She was being mourned. By Adora. Who she had no way to get back to. No way to contact. No way to let Adora know - any of it. If she somehow made it back into the Fright Zone and got to Adora, how would she get her out safely? How would she manage to convince Adora to leave the Horde?

If Adora would even talk to her.

If Adora would forgive her for being a Princess. Catra still hadn't forgiven herself for being a Princess. She was the very thing she'd been raised to hate. To fight. To kill. She had tried, too. She had fought her way through the castle she'd apparently been born in, through the Halfmoon Guard, a royal sorcerer, and a Princess. She had come close enough to fight a lost Queen of Etheria.

She never would have won. She'd figured that much out on her own. Queen Lyra was a sorceress and a fighter and had fought and killed full champions of the Horde. But Lyra also said Catra had come closer than anyone ever had.

The queen. Her mother. A woman she had no real memories of. Just - glimpses. Feelings and flashes that got brighter in her dreams every night she was in Halfmoon. But she remembered her scent - a scent evoking emotions she barely understood. Catra knew herself well enough to know those emotions were real. What she had known when Lyra had first called her 'daughter.'

The genetic testing they'd done had proven what Catra already knew.

Queen Lyra Dr'iluth was her mother.

Her mother. She had a mother…

Catra hugged herself and wrapped her tail around her wrist. It was almost too much to think about, sometimes.

Her mother was The Queen of Halfmoon - an entire society of magicats. A sprawling, thriving city of them, living in Subtheria - the underground world of Etheria. Driven there by the Horde, years before, they were still a vital, living nation. Their castle was an ancient stronghold of a lost people. Their city was ruins of an even more ancient people and had been added onto by the magic and tools and industry of her people.

A people celebrating her return. A people who seemed glad she was alive.

For a week, she had been in the infirmary. She had gotten inoculations. (She hated shots.) They had examined her prosthetic claws. (Thank you for the pain and suffering, Shadow Weaver.) Gotten her a head start on getting healthy. (Malnutrition? Her? Who would have thought?)

The next week had been spent starting to settle in. Recovering. Not only had the vaccines mad her sick, but she had a lot of healing to do. The potions they'd used to repair the damage from Shadow Weaver's tortures had left her weak and aching, and she hadn't had the energy to do a lot. She'd mostly tried to be around Lyra - her mother! - as much as possible.

Settling in had been - odd. Getting her own room. Not that she'd slept well. At all. It was big. Too big. She'd first been offered what they called a 'suite' and it had more than one room. For her. Alone. She had argued them down to just the one large room and attached bathroom. (With a closet bigger than some Force Captain quarters.)

She didn't like it.

It was empty. She was alone. It was too hot. It was too cold. And the bed? The bed was too soft. Way too soft. She'd ended up curled up on blankets and pillows on the floor under the giant bed. It felt - safer - down there.

There was no Adora. It was harder to sleep without her. A lot harder. Catra never had imagined having to spend more than a night or two apart, but this -

This hurt.

No one would notice where she slept, anyway. Catra hadn't allowed servants in her room. She didn't need someone taking care of her. Looking after her. She could take care of herself. She could dress herself, groom herself. Feed herself. Clean up after herself. She didn't need servants.

(She had let Lyra help brush out her back. She was shedding something fierce since getting out of the infirmary and it itched. But she cleaned up after. No one else needed to see the mess she was making.)

She knew she wasn't adjusting well. She could admit that to herself. She was trying! She really was! But everything was so different and there were new rules and no one behaved like they were supposed to! She could smell it on them! Honesty. Sincerity. Tentative trust.

Sympathy. Some pity - but not nearly as much as she expected. It wasn't fair! She didn't know how to act with any of them! No one had told her much, though. They were waiting for - something. They hadn't told her what. She had a lot of questions. She'd asked a lot of questions, only to have Lyra look sad and mad and tell her 'not yet.'

Lyra - her mother! - had promised to tell her. Promises made Catra nervous, unless they were between her and Adora. She wanted to believe Lyra. More than anything, she wanted to believe her.

She didn't want them making the bed, anyway. Making beds was stupid. If she did, people might figure out where she'd been sleeping and she'd have to remake her little nest over and over again.

That thought annoyed her all out of proportion. She could admit that to herself, too.

But she'd made the bed this morning. She'd never tried to make a bed before. Making beds was Adora's thing. Adora made her bed every morning, no matter what. Sometimes, she couldn't help herself and made Catra's, too.

"How does your bed get messy? We don't ever use it!"

Catra would never tell a soul, but she'd cried that morning, making the bed.

She'd made the bed, because her mother was coming to see her. Her mother was going to answer her questions. Finally. The royal advisers were going to let Lyra tell her things now!

Not that she hadn't seen her mother. Lyra spent every second she could with Catra. She didn't mind Catra tagging along behind her, even when she walked slow and didn't know what was going on. She'd practically run the country from Catra's bedside in the infirmary and found every excuse to see her.

Sometimes, it overwhelmed her. Sometimes, it scared her. What if Lyra was coming to see C'yara and not Catra? What if Lyra didn't want - didn't love - Catra the way she had C'yara? Catra didn't remember being C'yara. She'd always been Catra. Sometimes, she even liked being Catra.

Adora had liked Catra.

She'd learned a lot in the last two weeks, but not enough. She'd learned her mother didn't rule through fiat. She wasn't autocratic. She had some Council and other government bodies she had to work with. And sometimes, answer to? It was confusing. The Horde was simpler. Hordak ruled. Everyone else had whatever authority Hordak gave them.

So Lyra had been forced to wait before answering some of Catra's questions.

She'd learned magicats had an entire language all their own. Aiilayra. Her mother was teaching her in the evenings. They hid in Lyra's office and Catra learned what ever toddler in Halfmoon knew.

It was also the first time Lyra would visit Catra's room. Catra had spent plenty of time in Lyra's rooms, often sleeping on the comfy couch in the Queen's office. She slept easier there, with Lyra quietly working at her desk. She didn't know why. It just was. Lyra had never come to Catra's room, but had asked to have the conversation there, where Catra could ask her questions in private.

Catra wanted privacy, but she was scared. Her insides quivered. What Lyra thought of her was as important as - more important - than anyone but Adora. What would she think of her daughter if her room was a mess, and her bed wasn't made and…

Shadow Weaver and Adora had tried to help Catra be neat and clean. But she just - wasn't. So she rushed around. Trying to hang up the clothes. Tossing things down the laundry chute. Cleaning up trash and -

Making the bed.

She'd barely finished when she heard a knock at the door. Catra had unlocked it that morning, because she'd known Lyra - her mother! - was coming to see her. She tried to say something, but her mouth was dry. Why couldn't she say anything? It wasn't like she hadn't talked to Lyra every day since she'd woken up in Halfmoon!

After a second, the door cracked open a bit, and Lyra's peeked in. Seeing Catra standing there, tail in her hands, ears pinned back and twitching, she smiled as she slipped in, her nose scrunching up.

"I think I shook my advisers somewhere on the third floor? They thought this was an official meeting of some sort, no matter what I told them. Of course, your guards are going to rat me out, but if we lock the door and hide in your closet, maybe they'll go away?"

(Another thing Catra wasn't getting used to. Guards. At her door. As if she needed protection! They let her come and go and never stopped her from looking at anything, going anywhere. They called her 'highness' and they apologized to her! But they were always there. To keep her safe. She'd outfought and knocked down many times their number feeling worse than she did now, and yet, they felt it was important to protect her?)

"The closet is certainly big enough they might never find us in there." Catra smiled nervously, and before she could think better of it, she said the first thing that came to mind. "If we get desperate, we could scale the castle and hide on the roof?"

Catra liked hiding on rooftops. No one ever looked for her there. No one but Adora.

Lyra snorted as she closed and locked the door behind her, carrying a large basket laden with food and amazing smells. She walked over and set the basket on the bed, and then turned to Catra, her arms open.

"Good morning, my heart."

More things Catra wasn't used to, and never wanted to get used to. They were the things she wanted to cherish and hold onto every day forever. The smells and tastes of real food. Her mother hugging her. Her mother calling her 'my heart' every time she saw her.

Catra wanted to stay calm. Collected. Distant. But she couldn't. She hadn't been able to, not with Lyra. She darted forward and her mother's arms wrapped around her. She felt her mother's fingers thread through her messy, tangled hair. She pressed her face into her mother's neck, breathing in the scent of her, clinging in the privacy and quiet of her room.

Finally, something the room was good for.

"I'm here," Lyra whispered. She never scolded Catra for her emotions. She never lost her patience. Never got upset. She just - was there. She somehow made it better. Every time.

When Lyra hugged her, Catra felt safe.

Catra didn't understand. She knew she never would. She did know it was as precious to her as her last memory of Adora.

She couldn't voice it yet. She couldn't say the word the welled up in her throat every time. She wanted to. But the word scared her. What it meant scared her.

Momma.

She didn't know where it came from. It was there and it wanted to be said.

"Are you ready to hear your story?" Lyra murmured in her ear. "Or do you need a moment? We have all the time in the world. Today is yours, my heart. Everyone and everything else has to wait today. You can have tomorrow, too, if you need it."

There was no hesitation there. A Queen stating a fact, and a mother refusing to give up time with her daughter. Willing to put aside the business of a nation to answer her questions. It was an overwhelming in its own way as just being there was.

"I want to know. I need to know." Catra let herself draw back from Lyra. "I…"

Lyra's tail came up and curled around Catra's wrist. "Then let's have breakfast in bed, and I'll tell you."

Catra nodded, and Lyra jumped up on the tall bed with grace and ease. Catra watched how she did it and almost laughed. It was so much like how she used to jump up to her top bunk.

She followed her mother up and sat cross legged as her mother started setting out breakfast. It was all easy to eat food, with thermoses of tea.

Catra tried not to show how hard it was for her to get comfortable on the bed, but it was soft and how did anyone sit normally on something this soft and squishy? Her mother seemed to have no trouble with it, but Catra was -

Lyra was smiling, her ears up and her tail flicking in amusement. "You are not used to beds like this, are you?"

Catra stared down at her fingers and shook her head. "Too soft. Can't sit right."

Why was her voice always so small and soft with Lyra? Why couldn't she sound like her?

Lyra's tail brushed against Catra's arm as she handed her a thermos. "Too soft?"

Catra shrugged, holding the thermos in both hands like a lifeline. "Too big. Too soft. Too squishy. Too - exposed."

Shame. She was ashamed. She couldn't even sleep in a bed like a normal magicat. She had to hide under it, like a child.

"Where have you been sleeping, my heart?" Lyra's voice was soft and warm, but there was no accusation there. No scolding. No judgment. Catra didn't have a name for the emotion lacing Lyra's words, but she wanted to say 'love.'

But that was too big. Too much. Too scary.

Her eyes flicked down to the floor, and Lyra laughed softly. "Some things never change, do they?" She shook her head. "Have you been sleeping under the bed again?"

Catra looked up, her eyes wide. "Again?"

Lyra nodded. "Again. As a kitten, you never slept in your bed. At least, not after a very strange night. There was a terrible disturbance when you were a small one - magic went mad as someone or something tapped into what felt like every source of power on Etheria and maybe beyond to do a great working. Cyrus and I raced into your room to find you perched on your windowsill, inconsolably crying, reaching out for - something. We think you felt the disturbance more keenly than the rest of us. After that, you slept under your bed until…"

Lyra sucked in a breath and shook her head. "Well get there. But yes, you slept under your bed. You had a nest, and when the servants messed with it, you got very irate with them. You father, the great and feared General of the Armies hid from paperwork under your bed with you and teach you to swipe at ankles."

Catra couldn't help herself. She giggled. Since when did she giggle?

Lyra then quietly and gently showed Catra how to sit on the soft bed and not feel unbalanced as she sorted out the food. She didn't criticize as Catra learned how to balance herself, how to shift just right to not feel like she was going to fall over.

She waited as Catra popped the lid on a small bowl, looking down at the concoction there. It smelled amazing, but she was not used to food being yellow. "Scrambled eggs, with bacon. Trust me. It's good."

She passed her daughter a fork, and Catra took a small bite. The flavors exploded in her mouth and she took a much bigger second bite.

"Wait. You said I reacted to magic? I'm - I'm not magic. I'm about as unmagical as you can get."

Adora was the magical one.

Lyra snorted. "Whoever told you that lied, my heart. Your poor father was crushed when you started to make fire flowers pop over your crib. He wanted to raise you in the warrior's tradition and not your mother's 'magical nonsense.'" She smiled fondly at the memory. "He would have been so proud of your skills, you know. He'd have been bragging about it for ages. When he wasn't drilling the guard after letting a tired and sick teenage girl kick them around the castle."

Catra grinned. She knew there were people upset with her about her rampage, and she knew it might make things harder for her, later, but she was also proud of herself. She'd fought well.

(And she'd kept Kittrina's staff. The Eternian princess had been annoyed about it, but the girl - apparently married to Catra's cousin? - also admitted she'd been fairly beaten.)

Her face fell as she set the empty bowl aside. "I don't have magic now, though. Whatever I might have had is gone."

Lyra shook her head. "Magic doesn't leave us. Or anyone. All of our people have small magical gifts, but you have the potential to be a sorceress. You don't have to be, if you don't want to be, but - the potential is always there. I don't know why yours went dormant, but I can still feel the magic in you and around you."

Catra picked up a wrapped roll of some sort. It felt dense and heavy and warm, and she smelled both buttered bread and meat.

Meat had been a revelation to her. It was one of the best flavors in the world, and she seemed to crave it. The doctors had told her magicats were obligate carnivores, and meat was an essential part of her diet.

She was supposed to eat it. (The doctors had also been appalled to learn about ration bars.)

"I…I don't know." Catra took a bite of the roll, savoring both the taste of the warm, soft bread and the hot, spicy sausage. "I just want to know…"

Lyra waited, endlessly, eternally patient. Warm. Content to just - be there.

Catra dropped the roll on her lap and looked up at her mother and felt the silent despair, the fear, the pain, the need to know and to understand twisting her gut, making everything she'd already eaten feel like stones in her belly.

"Why was I abandoned? You…you…seem to…" the words caught in her throat, and she tried not to, but the tears fell anyway. "I was in a cardboard box by a dumpster! Like I was trash! Why…if you lo..lo…"

She couldn't finish the word, but she didn't have to. Heedless of the food, heedless of the potential mess, Lyra scooted next to Catra, her arms around her daughter, her tail around Catra's waist.

"I do love you. More now than the day you born, though I never would have thought I could. You were not abandoned, and I have been a fool to let them make me wait to talk to you. My heart, your story starts a long time ago, but you were never abandoned. Not by me. Not by your father."

Catra didn't understand why, but she was crying. Hadn't she come to terms with knowing she'd been tossed aside all those years ago? She'd had Adora, and that was all she needed. All she wanted. As long as Adora wanted her, she could face anything.

"When the Horde first came to Etheria, it marched across the continent. We were first. Halfmoon. They burned our vast forests and poisoned our wells and slaughtered us with foul magics and worse technology. We didn't have time to send for help. We barely survived as a people. Your great-grandfather led us down into the old ruins under our country and saved us all. Then, the Horde conquered the Kingdom of the Nest and created the Fright Zone, beginning their war on the rest of Etheria."

Lyra ran her fingers through Catra's hair, cradling her close as she spoke quickly, trying to get the story out as fast as she could. Catra could feel her desperation, her fear, her need to tell Catra all of it.

"He was an old king, and he died soon after we were established down here. He saved all of us he could, and we have lived in the caves ever since, rebuilding our people and our society, fighting against some of what lives down here and against the Horde, which still wants to destroy us. Nearly the entirety of our people on Etheria live in this great walled city, and we stand against the Horde until the day we can reclaim our homeland. His daughter took the throne and ruled with her wife until they were killed by traitors."

Catra wiped her eyes and looked at her mother in confusion. "Traitors? Assassins."

Lyra took a deep breath. "There are those of us who remember we were among the first peoples on Etheria. We have tales of our people learning magic from the Ancients. Of our pacts with Osirans. Of strange wars with the Snake Men led by King Hisss. Of the struggles against the First Ones and their dark plans for Etheria - which is how we knew about the ruins and how we came to have our RuneStone."

Catra knew she should have so many questions. Ancients? Osirans? Eternia? King Hiss? First Ones? And Halfmoon had a RuneStone?

She felt a frisson of fear. RuneStones were terrible things - magical devices of power and devastation and drove queens and princesses mad with it. Surely, her mother wasn't - one of them, was she?

Shadow Weaver had a RuneStone. The Black Garnet was a part of Catra's worst nightmares.

She wanted to know so much, but it was all subsumed by her need to know why she had been left alone in a cardboard box.

"Those who remember the wrong parts of our history wanted us to treat with or join the Horde and take our 'rightful place' as conquerors. Once, long ago, we tried to be conquerors, but - we changed." Lyra shook her head. "You have a lifetime to learn our history. But those who wanted to give us over to the Horde killed your great-aunt and her brother, Malachi, took the throne after a brief civil war. He was already old, and I was a woman grown and my sisters were nearly so when my grandfather took the throne, and he passed in his sleep a few years later - poison. My parents took the throne, and the traitors struck again. I had married Cyrus - a great warrior and an even better man and had given birth to you. You were a kitten still when the assassins killed my parents and tried to kill us."

Lyra's voice was hoarse and quiet now, and Catra clutched her as tightly as Lyra held her.

"This time, they had made a pact with the Horde. In exchange for the wealth and power of our people, they would rule us, and we would be slaves for the Horde. They tried, but could not kill me or your father." The Queen laughed darkly. "We barely made it to your room. One of them was on his belly, frantically trying to pull you out from under your bed, but you fought. Oh, C'yara, you fought him. Made him bleed. Your father killed him for it. The others faced me."

A chill ran down Catra's spine even as she tried to ignore being called C'yara.

"One of them was a sorcerer. He dove under the bed, grabbed you and used his magic to take him to his masters in the Horde. You father followed by grabbing him." Lyra sniffled. "I never saw him alive again. I went to the Fright Zone myself, against the wishes of my advisers. Askar, who you will meet when he returns from harrying Horde troops, went with me. The two of us only found your father's body."

Catra felt a hysterical laugh bubble up. Her mother and one warrior had fought their way into the Fright Zone? What kind of power did her mother wield? Entire armies had broken against the sheer numbers and firepower amassed there!

The Queen's voice choked. "He was surrounded by dead Horde soldiers and champions, his sword in his hand. Your bracelet, the one I made for you, was clutched in your father's other hand, covered in blood. I thought…I was so sure you were…I'm so sorry, my heart, I'm so sorry. I didn't know…I didn't know…"

Catra pressed her face against her mother's neck, realizing her mother had fought her way into and out of the Fright Zone looking for her. She hadn't been abandoned. She hadn't been discarded.

"It wasn't your fault." Catra's voice was a croak. "You…you didn't throw me away. You looked for me…"

Lyra nodded. "I would have died there trying to get to you, if I had thought you lived. I…I was so sure. I couldn't feel you through my magic, I couldn't smell you, I couldn't find you. We looked for hours. Fought our way along every path we thought you might have been taken."

Catra, no longer caring about how it looked, if it made her weak, if she was acting like a child, curled into as small a ball as she could, pressing into her mother. Lyra laid them both back against the head of the bed and clung to her child.

"A few weeks ago, Akrash - he came home." Her voice was barely a whisper. "The son of the two who had masterminded the original coup - Kellam and Varlaine Dr'ardeth. He told us what we already knew - there are still traitors in the city, but they have been quiet for so long. We already knew, because the Horde always finds new ways to hurt us. To attack us. Even now, they betray us, day after day, trying to recruit more to their cause."

Catra wasn't surprised to know the Horde hadn't given up, and she wasn't surprised to know she hadn't known about Halfmoon. It was the kind of thing Shadow Weaver would have kept from her and no one in the Horde except those at the very top knew all of the Horde's various campaigns.

And none of the soldiers who fought in Subtheria talked about it. They just walked around, wide-eyed and haunted.

"He told us he wanted to come home. He was a teenager when his parents did what they did, but he'd never had a choice in it. He spoke to me under truth spell, which is more than I would have asked of him. And I…I do not hold the sins of the parents against the child. He came back to us with knowledge of the surface, great magical training, and a desire to not be his parents. I don't know his entire story, but I know he carries a lot of pain and a lot of shame. A week later, he ended up fighting in a Horde attack, and got separated from the others. We thought him dead."

Catra's eyes were closed, and she breathed deeply, trying not to tremble or cry. Trying to hear the end of the story. Trying to understand who she had become and who she was supposed to have been.

But she couldn't get past one thought. It wasn't fair. She had gotten out. She was in her mother's arms, in a castle - in her castle - and Adora was still there. With Shadow Weaver.

"He came back two weeks ago, with you. He'd apparently been captured, and then used his connection to his parents to convince Shadow Weaver he was a traitor and in exchange for you - the magicat he'd learned was in the Horde - he would damage our RuneStone for her. Apparently, he lied to her face and got away with you. And for that, I am willing to give him almost anything he wants."

Catra looked up, startled. And more than a little afraid. "He lied to Shadow Weaver and got away?"

She knew, in theory, it was possible. But the idea of someone managing to do it was astounding and meant Akrash was a very good liar. It made him dangerous. Maybe more dangerous than anyone else Catra knew.

She'd talked to him a few times. He tended to give her a lot of space, but he'd talked to her about her staff. How it was an ancient weapon, forged by mage-smiths during an old war. In the hands of a warrior, it was a nearly unbreakable weapon, but in the hands of sorcerer, it could also channel magic.

He'd checked in on her when she'd been in the infirmary, but - he kept his distance. She wasn't sure if he was just wary of her, or he didn't know how to talk to her.

She needed to try to thank him again. Maybe. He was insufferable and infuriating, and he could apparently lie to Shadow Weaver. Distance sounded like a good idea, all things considered.

Lyra pressed her face into Catra's neck. "I have missed you so much, C'yara."

Catra flinched. "I…I'm not…I'm not C'yara. I don't remember C'yara. I've always been Catra." She took a breath. She steeled herself. She had to know. She had to find out.

Even if Lyra sent her away. Even if Lyra didn't want her anymore, she couldn't pretend. She couldn't do that to herself, or Lyra. So she forced herself to ask. To find out now, when it would hurt less.

When she hoped it would hurt less.

"I…do you still want me, even though I'm not…?"

"My heart, you are my daughter. I know you. I carried you, I gave birth to you. You are my daughter. But if you want to be Catra, then you are Catra. If that name means something to you…"

Catra nodded. Adora had named her. She couldn't give that up. She couldn't. She couldn't give up the only thing she still had of Adora.

"Your name is yours to choose, my heart." Lyra brushed her fingers over Catra's face. "Who you are is for you to decide, now and always. But you will always be my child. I will always love you. I will always want you. I will always be your mother. I will never stop wanting you or wanting you in my life. No matter what. No matter what you think of yourself, what you think you have done or haven't done. There are no conditions. Nothing you have to do or not do. Nothing you have to earn. Nothing you have to give up. I am your mother, and I love you, and I am happy beyond words you are home, and I am going to spend the rest of our lives making sure this is your home."

Catra sniffled, then she felt herself start crying. The word bubbled up from deep in her. "Momma…."

Lyra was crying too, a faint purr under her soft sobs as she clung to her daughter.

The Queen's Private Study

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two weeks after Catra's abduction

Catra loved her mother's office. She knew it was called a 'study,' but she didn't care. It was an office. Lyra did paperwork there. She made decisions there. Read reports. People came and told her things, and then Lyra told them what to do. That was what an office was for.

Lyra's study wasn't much bigger than Catra's closet (which made it big by Catra's standards), with dark red wood paneling and dimmer, more reddish-orange lights. Bookshelves crammed full of books and notebooks lined the walls next to file cabinets, and a special docking station for Lyra's tablets sat on the massive desk, and few artfully hidden monitors, and tables covered in Lyra's things. Little, precious things she'd collected.

Lyra spent a lot of time in her office, and now Catra did, too.

Apparently, her mother had a more public office, far fancier and nicer - but Catra didn't really care. Not until she got to visit it and found out if the couch was a nice as the one she was curled up on.

This was, currently, her favorite place in the world.

They'd gone there to hide after lunch, when her advisers finally figured out Lyra was in Catra's rooms. They had been rather offended when Catra wouldn't let them in, but - to her shock - they respected it and stayed outside.

Lyra had talked to them for a bit, shooed them away, and taken Catra to her study. They'd talked a lot about Halfmoon. A lot about her father. A lot about things Lyra wanted Catra to do. Study history and culture with Cloudfoot - her mother's oldest, most trusted, and most cherished adviser. Talk to the Guard and Generals about the Horde (eventually.) Learn Aiilayra. Talk more about magic - when Catra felt ready. Tour the city. Get fitted for new clothes - most of her clothes were things Lyra and others had laying around, but Catra had resisted the idea of new clothes until she had more of a say in it. Meet some of their extended family (terrifying.)

There had been some awkward moments. When Catra had asked what 'uncle' or 'grandfather' meant. When she asked about things that felt like common knowledge to her mother, or when she had to explain things to her mother. Like - sleeping with a weapon close at hand. Or never, ever being unarmed. (Her mother had relented on this, realizing Catra would never actually not carry a weapon. She was allowed her staff, a couple of hidden knives. But not a baton - apparently, because it was the weapon of the Guard, it would look too 'aggressive' or something? Catra thought it was silly, but went along with it, because she wouldn't be unarmed. Compromise, right?)

She sighed quietly. She'd put off asking for a while now. They'd spend the whole day together, and her mother hadn't volunteered the information, so she had to ask. She had to; she couldn't make the same mistakes she'd made in the Horde.

"When do you plan to put me back in training?" She wouldn't say it, but integrating with a new unit terrified her, especially one that knew she'd been raised in the Horde. They might appreciate her skills, but they might be mad at her for her first day in Halfmoon.

Her head was in Lyra's lap and she was stroking Catra's hair. "I know a lot of things are changing for you, my heart. But what is normal for you is - very strange for me. What do you mean, back in training?"

Catra blinked up at her. "You know, assigned to a unit? Military training? Combat training? Running sims, drills, studying the enemy?"

Catra was curious what Halfmoon taught about the Horde, and what kind of cadet rank Princesses got. She didn't really want to lead a unit, but would try if she had to. She couldn't do it like Adora had - she wasn't a leader like Adora. But she could figure it out.

Lyra closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. "No, Catra. No. Never. You…I…never again, my heart."

Catra felt a rush of fear, and her ears pinned back. Why not? She was a good fighter. She wasn't a good soldier, but this wasn't the Horde! She could do better! She sat up, sitting on her knees next to her mother.

She took her mother's hand in hers. Touch was - hard, with most people. She didn't like it. With Lyra, it was almost as easy as it was with Adora, but she needed her mother to know she was serious.

"I promise! I do! I won't bel like I was in the Horde. I can be a good soldier for Halfmoon. I can. I'm a good fighter, and I know how the Horde fights! I'm almost healed, and I'm still able to fight and drill! Don't - I don't want - I can't be -"

She tried not to. She did, but the tears came again. She hadn't even been there a month and she was already a reject again. Would she be relegated to the back lines, in supply and logistics? Or worse yet - administration?

Lyra shook her head. "You are not a soldier, Catra. You never should have been. No one your age is! Not here. You are not a child - and I won't tell you are you are, and, in a lot of ways, you are an adult. But legally, you are a teenager. You are a Princess, but - Catra, being a soldier of Halfmoon is a choice you make after you reach your majority. At eighteen years old, you become a legal adult, and you decide what you want to do with your life. As a Princess, you can be a soldier. You can be a sorceress. Or a scout. Or anything else you want to be, but until you are of age, you are not a soldier anymore."

Catra stared at her mother blankly. Nothing her mother had said made any sense. What did being an adult have to do with being a soldier? Or a fighter? She knew about the Etherian rule of being 'eighteen' meaning you got a bunch of rights and privileges, but that was just things like, breeding and cohabitation and transferring units without a review board. Or being allowed to hold certain ranks or earn certain qualifications.

"I don't…is it because of the fight, when I got here? Am I in trouble? For hurting people?" Her voice was soft, confused, broken. "I can…I'll show you. I will! I can make it work. I won't do it again! I'll accept any other punishment, no complaints! You can even cut my rations! Please?"

From the horror on Lyra's face, Catra knew she'd said something awful. She'd seen that look a few times before. Always about something normal in the Horde.

"Catra. My heart. I…I know you don't understand what I just told you. I know you don't. That you don't isn't even the worst crime the Horde committed against you, and you don't understand why it's terrible, yet. No. You will not - are not - being punished for what happened. You thought you were in danger and going to die and did what you thought you had to. And no one in Halfmoon gets their food taken away. Not our prisoners. No one is homeless. No one is without care. We take care of our own. We don't - we don't punish that way."

She tugged on Catra's arm, guiding her back into lap. Confused, scared, and more uncertain than she'd ever been, Catra laid back down, curled up tightly, her tail around her waist.

"If you want to keep training a warrior, you can. You will. I will get you the best teachers. Learned, skilled fighters who will teach you what you want to know. Fighting. Strategy. Tactics. Anything. If you want to train with the Guard - maybe. There's nothing wrong with training. Learning. But you are not a soldier anymore. You are my daughter. You can be a Princess, if you want the job. You will be a student, learning about your people. You can be anything you want, eventually. But you do not have to fight. You do not have to learn to fight. You - you can choose, my heart. Decide for yourself what you want. And when the time comes, I will support you."

Catra looked up at her mother, tears rolling down her face. This didn't make sense! None of this made sense! She was a solider! She'd always been a soldier!

"If I'm not a soldier, what am I? I don't know how to be anything else!" She mewed plaintively, her ears back. "It's all I'm good for!"

Lyra was crying now, too. Her fingers threaded through Catra's hair. "No, my heart. You are important and cherished, because you are you. I love you, because you are. Your worth, your value exists because you exist. Because you are a person. What you do is how you - make your way in the world. How you show others what kind of person you are. You are more than what you can do. You are more than what you do, what you have done. You are loved, regardless."

Catra buried her face in her mother's stomach. "I hurt people. It's what I do. It's what I am! It's all I know! I just thought…maybe, now, I could hurt the right people!"

How could she have worth if she wasn't doing something? She was a fighter! She was good at fighting people! Why was that suddenly bad? How did the Princesses hold their own for so long, if they didn't raise soldiers and send people out to fight?

Lyra held Catra to her. "You never have to fight again, if you don't want to. Violence is a terrible tool, even to protect."

Catra turned her head, looking up at Lyra. "If I'm a Princess, isn't that what I do? Fight for people? Protect them from what I used to be? I can do that! If I don't use magic, I might not even go mad!"

Lyra blinked. "Go mad? Catra, what do you mean?"

She wiped her eyes. "Everyone knows. Princesses are mad. Driven mad by magic. Twisting the world with it. Doing terrible things, but always fighting the Horde to keep us - them! - from the people."

Lyra lowered her head and pressed her forehead to Catra's. "Princesses are not mad or driven mad by our magic. Our magic is symbiotic - part of us. It gives us things and our ability to use it keeps magic flowing through Etheria. And Etheria needs magic. It's part of the world. An important, vital part. I am not mad, and none of the others are, last I heard. Your mind is safe, and so is your heart, Catra. Even if you choose to learn magic. Or if you choose to stay a fighter - a soldier."

That was easier to accept or understand than the rest of it. The Horde lied about Princesses being mad - it made sense. Make the enemy sound evil. Easier to fight them. Easier to kill them. She understood that.

She didn't understand the other idea - that she wasn't old enough to be what she already was? She wasn't allowed to be what she'd always been until later? She was important just for being her - even if she wasn't a Princess?

How did Princess people function when things were so confusing!

"I…don't understand, anything." Catra felt sobs welling up, and gave in. She couldn't fight it. "Nothing makes sense anymore, Momma. Nothing!"

Adora would understand. Somehow, Catra knew - Adora would understand. It would make sense to her, and she would be able to explain it. But Adora wasn't there, and nothing made sense and nothing was right and she didn't even know who she was or who she was supposed to be!

Lyra held her daughter while she cried.

"It's all right, my heart. We have tomorrow, too. We have as long as you need."

Chapter Text

Wandering About

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two weeks after Catra's abduction

"I really don't understand why I'm here." Akrash walked alongside Catra, keeping up a constant litany of whispered complaints. The tall, white magicat was dressed in pale blue robes and seemed to be shuffling as he shortened his longer strides to let Catra hobble along next to him.

"In a grander sense, yeah, that's a real mystery," Catra muttered, trudging behind her mother's oldest advisor - a stout, much older magicat with black fur and white hands and feet named Cloudfoot. The 'Minister of State' or whatever. She didn't know what he did. She had a bunch of books that would tell her, but they were in the magicat language.

Which she didn't know. Yet. Lyra - her mother - was teaching her. Which is where Catra would prefer to be. On her mother's office couch, curled up while Lyra worked. It was her favorite spot in the entire Castle. She wouldn't tell anyone, though. She had a reputation she didn't want to ruin.

Most of the Halfmoon Guard flinched when Catra moved too fast. (Not that she was very fast right then. She was still sore and tired and recovering.) She hadn't taken too much advantage; she was the Princess (whatever that actually meant) and thus, supposed to (according to a lot of people giving unsolicited opinions) 'comport' herself with 'decorum.'

She had her own thoughts about the Guard. Their abilities. Readiness. And their willingness to come after her just because she came from the Horde. She'd become a threat after they'd tried to hunt her. If someone had just talked to her…

But no one ever told her what was going on. Not really. Only Adora ever bothered to fill her in on anything. The 'Royal Council' - including Cloudfoot - had made her wait two entire weeks before her mother could tell her anything about herself.

She had problems with that, too.

"Funny. I meant, why am I on a tour of Halfmoon Castle with you?" His ears flicked and his tail slowly lashed.

She didn't know her erstwhile rescuer very well. She'd talked to him twice while in the infirmary. He'd checked her for harmful spells using Mystacoran magic as opposed to magicat magic. He'd answered questions about her staff she didn't want to ask anyone else.

He was a sorcerer of Mystacor, and magicats had their own, different, magical tradition. He was from the surface and allied with the Princesses. He'd rescued her (for some value of rescued) and his parents sounded about as much fun as Shadow Weaver.

Not enough to know if she hated him or not. Yet.

Cloudfoot ambled around a corner ahead of them, his staff of office tapping the floor. Catra watched the Guards stand taller. Shoulders back. Ears up. Watching him with deference.

He's important. Got it.

The Guards saw her, and their hands twitched for weapons. Catra almost laughed. "Really, magic boy? I love how you think I had anything to do with this plan."

Akrash huffed again. "Well, Princess, I thought - "

"Catra." She hissed through clenched teeth. She'd spent two weeks correcting everyone. She was Catra. Not C'yara. Not 'highness.' Not 'Princess.' With her mother, her emotions were confused and busy and overwhelming, and names meant something different.

But everyone else? Would call her by her name or she might give the Guard whole new reasons to flinch. (She almost liked Cloudfoot. He'd never called her the wrong name and had stopped calling her Princess the first time she'd asked.)

"Well, Princess Catra, - "

"Cat. Ra." She interrupted again. He wasn't allowed to sass her until he used her name. Just her name. "Two syllables. Try it. Even you should be able to sound it out."

His ears pinned back and his tail whipped. "Catra. Who is also a Princess. I figured you'd drug me along to ask me all manner of uncomfortable questions without being overheard."

"Nope." Catra tried not to show how much she was leaning on her staff, but they'd been through about almost a quarter of the annoyingly massive castle. They hadn't seen anything new, but were leaving the residential wing and entering the government wing. She had run through some of it on her first day, and spent a lot of time in Lyra's office, but hadn't been many places otherwise.

It looked the same. Beautiful blue-gray marble. Rose granite tiles. Thick, comfortable carpet. Diffuse, soft yellow light that didn't sting her eyes, with wall sconces keeping the shadows from overwhelming everything. Catra hated that it was comfortable, soothing. It wasn't supposed to feel like home yet.

"No?" Akrash sounded startled.

"No." Catra shrugged. "Why bother? You lied to Shadow Weaver and got away with it. You're a sorcerer, so you have secrets. I'm not stupid enough to trust you."

He slowed down, letting her manage to get ahead of him. He was taken aback and completely unprepared for her answer. Good.

"Great. So, this is just us both getting to be bored?"

Catra rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to jump - just a little - at the Guards following them. They were a little closer than she liked. Didn't they know to give a girl space?

"Who's bored, magic boy?" Catra cleared her throat. No one wanted to tell her anything? She would start asking questions. A lot of them. "Minister! Got a question."

Cloudfoot stopped walking, turned, and Catra was treated to the sight of the older man lighting up as if she had offered him contraband! His ears went up, he smiled, and his eyes sparkled. "Of course! Anything I can tell you, I will!"

Not the reaction she expected. At all. Fine. She could work with it. "This castle. How did Halfmoon build it - keep it up and all - while living on the surface?"

Cloudfoot looked, if anything, more excited. "We didn't! This place was built by the Osirans, gifted to our people long ago. Why a winged people built a castle under the world, we don't know, but they did. The city of Halfmoon, of course, is far older than this Palace and built long before by the Ancients. Magic went into it construction, obviously -"

Catra tried not to flinch. Why was everything magic? Ever since her mother told her she had magic, she was even more aware of it. Not everything had to be magic!

" - and when this place was given into our care, we kept a garrison here and maintained it, for great history lives here! Why, the mosaic in the Grand Hall, which I assume you saw, is supposedly the night sky as it was when the Osirans lived - an accurate map of stars, or small lights that once populated the night sky alongside the moons."

She didn't scoff, but she had trouble believing. Everyone knew the moons were eternal, but the idea the night used to be lit by tiny lights? Princess legends. Almost as bad as Horde legends.

"And it was kept stocked and ready for you to just - escape into?" She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice. She did. She also knew she failed.

It didn't daunt Cloudfoot. "I can see you will enjoy pragmatic challenges to my knowledge. Wonderful! No. The city and the castle were used as storage by then. Extra food, supplies, things no one wanted cluttering the surface. Or things we wanted protected, such as the Royal Library and the Hall of the Lost Temple - our school for sorcerers, healers, and doctors - and its own vast library. Much of the material wealth of Halfmoon was secured in the vaults of this castle or in the city. Thus, when your great-grandfather led us from the surface, much of what we needed to protect was here. Not everything. We saved much, I admit, but not everything."

The jovial Minister's voice was softer. Sadder. Catra knew; not everything also meant not everyone.

"Huh. Good for him." Maybe tactical sense ran in the family.

"We certainly think so! Come. Your mother asked me to ensure you see one thing in particular before we visit the Royal Hall. She is hearing petitioners today, but felt you should see your city before standing with her. Once you have acclimated a bit, I am sure you will have a chance to visit the city. Hopefully, before your Coronation!"

Catra stopped walking and stared. Both at the phrase 'your city' and the word 'Coronation.' She vaguely remembered 'coronation' from Horde training being something to do with a princess officially becoming a princess. (She also realized her tour wasn't a tour, but a meander on their way to her mother. Why was it so hard to just tell her things?!)

And what did Cloudfoot mean by your city?

"Uhh… my what now?"

Akrash turned and stared at her with wide, amused eyes. Asshole. He somehow managed to sound perfectly sincere and even slightly concerned, but Catra knew he was sassing her. "Why, your Coronation, Princess Catra. When you are crowned Princess of Halfmoon and take on your royal duties. Should be fairly soon, from what I hear."

Catra didn't hiss. Or roll her eyes. There. Decorum. I'm trying. Sort of.

"Caught that. Soon? Now there's a great idea! I still don't know what things like 'uncle' and 'cousin' mean, and someone thinks it's a good idea to put me in charge of anything other than breaking faces?"

The two Guardsmen escorting them both took a small step back, and Akrash snorted. "I think everyone knows your skill with that particular duty, your highness."

Catra ignored the guards and ignored Akrash and looked right at Cloudfoot, as if the entire thing were his fault. Which, as far as she knew, it was.

"Akrash isn't entirely wrong." He leaned on his staff. The ruby at the top glittered in the soft light, as if it had fire caught inside it. "But also, not entirely right. The Coronation isn't your assumption of royal duties. Technically, those began when Doctor Lenio confirmed you are the Queen's daughter. What your duties are isn't decided yet, because the Queen has informed the Royal Council and the noble families she will be discussing those with you herself. A Coronation is the ceremony officially recognizing you as what you are - the Princess of Halfmoon, heir to the throne. It is a beautiful ceremony! Steeped in tradition and ancient ritual! I promise you, Catra, it is a marvelous pageant. You will have the finest gown, the most elegant jewels! It will be a proud, important moment of your life! Perhaps the most important day of your life! Now, this way!"

Catra felt herself following on autopilot, the Guard a few steps behind her. Akrash was smirking. "I'm sure you'll look lovely in a gown, your highness."

Catra gave him her best 'I will end you' glare and resisted the urge to splay her claws. She had already been told threatening violence was 'inappropriate' and 'worried people.'

"Funny. I wonder what they'll have for you to do? Carry my crown, maybe?"

Akrash scowled. "I hope not. With any luck, I'll just be another face in the crowd by then. I'm sure you'll be ready to be rid of me."

Catra sniffed. "Come to think of it, why are you still hanging around?"

Akrash tugged at his robes, looking slightly self-conscious. "The Queen has asked me to remain. She didn't really tell me why."

She shook her head. Amateur. Of course, he could be lying. Always a possibility. "If you wanted to be one more face in the crowd, you should have left me to rot. You saved a Princess - as you keep reminding me. I'm sure you get some royal reward. Some position or title or, you know, responsibility?"

Akrash's ears flicked back. "That genuinely wasn't part of my plan."

It was Catra's turn to smirk. "A victim of your own success. Congratulations on making yourself valuable. Maybe even indispensable."

The look of dawning horror on his face made Catra smile. Lovely in a gown? That wasn't happening. She'd seen pictures of gowns during Princess Studies. She'd attend her 'Coronation' in pajamas before being forced into some sparkly dress.

Cloudfoot pushed open large, heavy wood doors, the hinges barely creaking as they swung inward. (Another thing Catra respected about the Minister. He did things for himself, most of the time.)

"This," he gestured around, "is your mother's conference room. Where the Royal Council meets, and where she holds meetings outside the Royal Hall or her office."

Catra crossed her arms. Honestly? She had expected something much more - grandiose. The room was certainly large. Far longer than it was wide, it was dominated by a long, ovular wood table surrounded by plush maroon rolling chairs with obvious spaces for tails between the seats and backs of the chairs. The thick, soft carpet was deep maroon. There were several bureaus with tablets, and dishware obviously for refreshments. The walls at either end were festooned with monitors and boards to write on, and there was a cabinet with what Catra assumed was liquor of some kind - something she knew Princesses made and drank a lot of.

The far wall was all heavy coppery curtains.

"Normally, I would do this myself, but it is your mother's favorite view. She would not forgive me if I didn't ensure you had the full experience. Guards, if you would please?" Cloudfoot looked almost giddy with excitement as he gestured for the Guards.

They gave Catra a wide berth.

One guard on either side of the curtains pulled them open, and Catra silently admitted it was a good show. The floor to ceiling windows revealed Halfmoon city sprawling out in front of them.

Gentle light - obviously magic - played over stalactites hanging far above them, each shimmering with auroras of blue, purple and gold, washing the city in spectral illumination, almost as bright as the soft mid-morning glow Catra remembered, dappling the low, rambling buildings in coruscating waves of color.

It was beautiful.

The city itself looked grown from the stone of the absurdly massive cavern it sat in; possibly as large as the entire Fright Zone complex, if not larger, Halfmoon was semi-circles of dark stone cut through with winding, twisting streets, as if a maze had been carved into the bones of the world.

She saw people moving about, many on rooftops. Some even hopping roof to roof or sauntering across ramps connecting buildings. Spiraling ramps and pathways curled around up from the ground, from the sides of building, from the roof itself and seemed to grow to the walls in an infinite and recursive tangle. Magicats raced along these - some on all fours, others upright. Others leading carts or riding on low, lumbering shaggy herd animals with massive, wide horns. Others were leathery, with horns jutting from the center of their faces. And the largest had armored frills with three horns coming out of their heads.

She saw buildings jutting out from walls, hundreds of feet above the ground, and others set deep into the walls. Buildings hung down from the cavern's arched roof, and some of the largest stalactites and stalagmites were carved into structures themselves. Catra saw some of them were larger than the largest buildings she ever seen, and clusters of smaller ones looked just as busy and well-crafted as the largest.

Banners flew in the wind whispering through the cavern, and even as she tried to take it all in, she knew there was more to the city beyond what she could see, deeper into the tunnels branching off of Halfmoon itself, even running above and below the sprawling city. Runes and signs carved into stone lit from within, casual and profligate use of magic replacing the signs Catra had grown up with - the ones bolted to walls or hung over doors.

That's why so much magic. They can't survive without it down here, can they? She slowly drew in a low, deep breath.

In the distance, she saw the shore of a vast lake (or underground sea?) with a massive, dark tunnel leading away from it. The lake itself glittered, lit from within by phosphorescence, the glimmering shine misting into the air. Glowing waves lapped at the shore, and boats sat on the water, drifting under a massive, arched set of bridges stretching from the largest stalactites and stalagmites to a far island she could barely see in the distance.

Cloudfoot laughed softly. "Your mother gets the same look on her face when she sees it, my lady. You are so much like her."

"I am?" Catra hated how soft her voice was. She decided to ignore the 'my lady' for now. She didn't like it. She wasn't his. But he answered her questions. Treated her seriously. She'd be a nice Princess and give him that one. For now.

"You are." He came up to stand next to her. "Passionate. Defiant. Stubborn. Intelligent. And wise enough to know when what is yours to protect is as amazing as it is. Every person in that city, several hundred thousand of them, are your people, Catra. The Horde stole them from you, and you from them. But you are home now, and I know if you chose, if you do not want responsibility for them, your mother will love you and keep you all the same and never force you to take up the mantle of Princess. No one has ever been forced to rule - it is our law all have a choice and a say in their futures."

Catra stepped forward and pressed her palm to the heavy glass, surprised how cool it. So. Her mother had been right. She had a choice. A real choice. Not just her mother making it happen - it was written into the rules. Unlike the Horde, she could choose. She could just be Lyra's daughter. Or she could choose to become what she was raised to hate. Taught to kill.

A Princess of Etheria.

There were so many of them. So many magicats. So many people like her. Hidden. Driven underground. "She said the Horde still tries to…"

Cloudfoot nodded slowly. "Oh, yes. The Horde has never stopped. Subtheria is, in many ways, a world all its own, separated from, yet connected to the world above. An entire generation of magicats have been born and raised here, never having seen the sky and sun and many have no wish to. We know - we've asked. Some miss the surface, and others crave to see it for themselves, but geography is our enemy. We are behind the lines of the Horde, my lady. To return to the surface would put our people in danger, surrounded in the heart of the enemy - and there are so many more of them than there are of us. So many more. Day after day, they send armies beneath the world to conquer us and the native peoples of Subtheria. Day after day, they fail. Halfmoon stands strong. The Guard, the scouts, our magicians and our warriors all stand against them. We harry them in the tunnels and we destroy their supply lines. We kill them in silent battles in darkness and we clash with them under ceilings of stone, armies meeting in caverns nearly as big as this one. We still fight, my lady. Now and always, Halfmoon will stand."

Now and always, Halfmoon will stand. A shiver ran under her skin at his words, her fur standing on end.

"But we don't win." Her fingers curled, trailing along the cold glass. "We can't, can we?"

"No." Cloudfoot set his staff on the table and pulled up one of the chairs. "We cannot. The Horde is vast and industrious. An infinity of bots and soldiers and tanks and weapons we cannot replicate. You know better than I what the Horde is, Princess. Now and always, we stand, but it will ever be a stalemate. We are cannier fighters, wise in the ways of Subtheria, but in a war of attrition, we will lose. The Rebellion, on the surface, splits their attention as the great old kingdoms hold the line. Bright Moon. Plumeria. Salineas. Snows. The smaller principalities harry them, never gaining ground - but for the Horde overcome the power of the RuneStones and the Princesses? Not likely. Etheria may always be at war, but Etheria will never be broken by it."

"Princess." Catra hissed the word. "Princess. Mad women with giant magic rocks who rule the world as undying abominations, turning nature against their own people, magicking people into believing in them. Enslaving millions and casting off orphans for the Horde to rescue. Tell me! What is a 'Princess?' Really. If I'm going to be one, you should probably tell me."

It wasn't Cloudfoot who answered. It was Akrash, still standing in the doorway, his eyes transfixed by the sight of Halfmoon.

"I grew up here, you know. I thought I remembered, but I didn't. Not really. But I was raised up there. Taught up there. Became a person and sorcerer up there. Up there, Princesses stand between the people and harm. They fight. They rule, sure, but I don't think they all want to. Princess Perfuma of Plumeria would be happiest growing flowers, I think. But they have the power, so the people need them. They protect their people. Guide them. Lead them."

He finally walked into the room. "Princesses also seem to stand alone a lot. Princess Frosta's parents are dead. Princess Mermista spends more time fighting at sea than at home. Dryl is ruled by a mad genius who can barely govern - but her inventions protect Dryl. Princess Glimmer is known by her people, loved by her people, because she spends more time with them than in her palace. Partly because she loves finding trouble, I think? Princesses are always in danger. Always dealing with the next crisis or the next battle. They're trained for it, sure, but if they mess up, people get hurt. People die. Sometimes, it's their fault."

Catra pushed her forehead against the glass, feeling her heart race and her body shake. "Are you trying to talk me out of it?"

"No," Akrash shook his head. "Trying to do that thing where I tell the truth once or twice a year. Just so I remember what it is."

"I shouldn't be, you know. Princess. It's a stupid idea." Her claws started to slide out, but she kept them from scratching the window. It was her mother's.

"Is it?" Cloudfoot leaned forward. He didn't touch her, but he was closer than most people got. He was actually telling her things, so he got away with it. For now. "You are a skilled warrior who knows the enemy. You are trained in logistics. Strategy. Tactics. You- like your mother - can learn to lead. You can learn diplomacy. History. Economics. Culture. You know, better than any of us, the cost of the Horde winning. All of that is academic, of course." He waved off his own ramble. "The real question, my lady, isn't ours to answer. It's yours. Can you choose to leave the fight to others? To not lead?"

Catra's claws cut into the glass and she growled. Snarled. "Asshole. You know what happened to me and you ask me that?"

"Yes. I do!" Cloudfoot stood back up. He was still smart enough not to touch her. He didn't call her 'my lady' that time, either. "Because I know the cost! Know what a leader who doesn't want the fight would cost us! I grew up with your grandparents! I taught your father. Your mother! I held your mother while she cried for her lost child and her husband! She is as dear to me as any - as are you! You don't remember me, but I remember you, and have not forgotten the kitten who wanted to hear every story I knew! Catra, it's your choice, but I won't hide the cost from you. Either a life of leading our people, fighting battles that will never end, standing with your mother and in front of your people, or a life where you just - are. You are Lyra's daughter! You cannot fight for Halfmoon and not lead, because, even if you chose to be just a soldier - the people will look to you! You do not get half-measures here, Princess! You must either be our Princess or not. Fight, or not."

Her claws screeched through the glass as she drug her hand down. "And I have to choose now? Right this second?"

"You know what? Yeah, you do." Akrash was behind her now, but out of reach. Asshole. "And go ahead and claw me. I'll turn you into a mouse. You have to choose now because it's not like you haven't already. You know what you're going to do. You just don't like it. It's uncomfortable, choosing to be what you were raised to hate. It's terrible, to stand there and know what you were taught is wrong. I get that. I lived that. But what else do you want from life, what other purpose calls you? Other than making the Horde bleed for what they did to you? Protecting the people they stole you from so it doesn't happen again."

I want Adora! Catra's other hand pressed against the window. I don't want to fight Adora!

But she wouldn't, would she? Shadow Weaver would never put Adora near her again. Shadow Weaver wouldn't dare, because even if Catra didn't want Adora back with every fiber of her being, she would take Adora away just to hurt Shadow Weaver.

The old witch wasn't stupid. She might have pitted her against Adora if Catra were with the Horde and Adora was free, because Shadow Weaver would have made Catra want Adora's blood for leaving her. It's how the old witch was.

Catra didn't believe Shadow Weaver could do that to Adora. Adora was built different. There was less rage in her. Less desire to hurt anyone. Adora wanted to be loved. To be needed. Not to conquer. Not to get revenge. No, Shadow Weaver would use Catra's absence to hurt Adora into doing what she wanted.

Which made Catra want to kill the old witch more.

She pulled her claws from the glass and spun around, hands down and claws splayed. "Some of them were my friends!"

Akrash stared at her, face flat and hard. "Were they?"

She was!

"How would you know?" Catra hissed. "What makes you think you know me, sorcerer?"

"She wouldn't have given you to me if you mattered to them," Akrash whispered back. "I'm a liar. A trickster. A manipulator. I am what my parents made me. Except a traitor. She gave me the Princess of Halfmoon, Catra, and she knew what she was doing. I figured I got you so easily because you weren't the princess, but you are. Which means you didn't matter to her. Or them!"

He let his words hang in the air. "She couldn't have done that if people would miss you. Would want you back. She got away with it because they won't."

Catra's growl built in her chest; she wanted to leap across the table and make him take it back. She'd mattered to Adora! Adora would miss her. Adora would want her back. Adora would look for her!

But not anyone else. No one else wanted her. No one else cared. No one else would miss her. Want her back. Some of them would even be glad she was gone.

"You matter to us, Catra." Cloudfoot whispered. "You matter to Lyra! You matter to our people! You matter to me! If you were to vanish tomorrow, Lyra and Halfmoon would scour the world for you, and I would be limping along with them!"

Catra met Cloudfoot's eyes and blinked slowly. He'd meant it. She mattered to him. She didn't know what to do with that, but what he'd said had mattered to her.

"You're not wrong again, magic boy." Catra went limp. Her claws sheathed. "I want it, okay? Fine! I want to be Princess. I want to prove to the Horde I'm not a failure! I want to protect all those people who are like me! I don't want it to happen to another kid! I want - I want…" She snarled instead of crying again. "What do I have to do, then? Tell me that!"

Admitting it was hard. The words had wanted to get stuck, but she wouldn't be beaten by words. Or a title. Or responsibility. She couldn't leave people like her to the Horde. She couldn't let another kitten live like she did. Not if she could stop it.

Cloudfoot gestured, and Akrash closed the curtains with a whispered spell. Catra barely kept herself from flinching. Enough magic, already!

"You follow me to your mother. You walk up and stand at her side. You allow yourself to be the Princess. That is all you have to do, my lady."

He made it sound so easy.

Catra pointed at the door. She wanted her mother. She wanted easy answers, not this complicated, emotional mess. "Fine. Let's go, then. And stop calling me that. I'm not your lady. I'm just - Catra."

At least, for now. The way things were going, maybe tomorrow she'd be ready to be called 'Princess.'

Cloudfoot nodded once. "Of course. Come then. Your mother is waiting for you. And so are your people."

The Royal Hall

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two weeks after Catra's abduction

Cloudfoot stopped, his hand on an ornate door. "Through here is the Royal Hall, where your mother is receiving petitioners. You are the Princess, so you may enter through this door. It will take you in right next to your mother, up on a dais looking out on the Hall. Sit next to her. Do not remain standing too long. She may or may not be able to speak to you. You have every right to be there, and I know your mother wants you to be there. And before you doubt, she did as me to bring you here after you saw the city."

The older magicat cleared his throat. "I admit, our discussion went a bit further afield, but yes. This is where you go to be Princess. If you have changed your mind, then you may wait in a room over here," he pointed to door down the hall, "where you can watch."

Catra met his eyes steadily, her amber-gold and sapphire-blue stare holding him in place. "I made my decision, Minister. Are you going to open the door or not?"

Akrash coughed into his fist. "Princess behavior."

She turned back to the sorcerer. "What of it? If I'm Princess, then I can tell you what to do."

Akrash momentarily looked affronted, then stood to his full (annoyingly impressive) height. "And I can turn you into a lizard. We are both forced to refrain from doing things we know would be amusing, aren't we?"

Catra flicked her ears dismissively and then turned back as Cloudfoot continued, yet again ignoring the bickering. "We will enter through the Council entrance shortly. It may be some time before you leave the Hall. Do you want food or tea sent up?"

Catra almost rolled her eyes again. And have everyone watch her eat? Or try to eat, if they brought her something really strange? No thank you.

Especially tea. Or worse, herbal tisanes.

"Whatever. I'll be fine." She'd gone without food and water for days before. A few hours wouldn't even be hard and she would be so much less likely to embarrass herself. But this would be the perfect time for a ration bar. She'd have to make sure to tell Lenio they had their uses next time he poked and prodded her.

She was having enough trouble with what was on the other side of the door.

My mother is there. She took a deep breath. All she had to do was walk in and sit down next to her mother. She could do that. The sitting there and doing nothing would be hard, but she'd managed it before. She was better at it than Adora, at least.

Adora. Adora would have just ordered all the food and water and completely, unashamedly eaten it all, no matter what kind of mess she made. No matter who was watching. She didn't care what anyone thought. Except when she cared way too much.

She scowled at Cloudfoot and Akrash. It was their fault she was thinking about Adora, after all.

Time to put on a show. Catra centered herself, throwing off her pain and fatigue, hiding it with the ease of long practice. She stood with every bit of confidence she'd ever faked, smirking at the door as if it - and everyone beyond it - were exasperating and amusing, not one of the biggest threats she'd ever faced. (Without the right to fight back, anyway.)

She spun her staff and tapped it on the ground, then nodded at Cloudfoot.

Cloudfoot nodded back, opened the door, then gave a low bow (the old bastard! She couldn't fuss with the door open!) Catra stuck her tongue out at him right before she stepped into the Royal Hall.

It was smaller than the Grand Hall she'd fought her way through, but built similarly. Narrower, not quite as tall and imposing. It was decorated the same, except for the ceiling. Instead of mostly glittering 'stars' it had all twelve moons set into the ceiling in precious metals and gems. A line of shining gold drew a circle for each moon, showing its path through the night sky.

It was beautiful; a truly breathtaking work of art. She tore her eyes away from it and down to the people waiting on her mother. There was a crowd of them, but only a few dozen, not the hundreds she had been afraid of. Some were obviously noble, but many looked to be normal citizens in their best clothes - which ranged from fancier than Catra would be caught dead in to clothes she thought would serve well for hard work or a day of survival training.

The air was still cool, but the light was surreal, syrupy gold sparkling with motes of reflection drifting in the air.

The walls were lined with padded benches carved from the same blue-black marble, and the walls between the columns were decorated with each more of the moon motif, with six moons on either side, each moon taking up several wall sections.

Catra looked to her left and saw her mother sitting on an absolutely massive cushion of maroon and copper, with more cushions to lean back against. At least the Queen got to sit comfortably and wasn't on some kind of ridiculous throne, like some of the pictures she'd seen in the Horde.

There was a man standing in front of Lyra, looking as if Catra had interrupted him by entering. He was glaring at her, his eyes narrowed and his tail lashing. Lyra looked up at Catra and smiled warmly, patting a place next to her.

"My heart! Come. Sit. Dr. Arashu was just explaining to me why I'm wrong!"

Without taking her eyes off the doctor, she dropped down next to her mother, her staff on the other side of her. Probably closer to her mother than she should have, but she didn't care. Especially when Lyra did was curled her tail around Catra's waist and leaned her head on Catra's shoulder. "I am so glad you could make it today."

Momma. Even during official business, her mother made time to acknowledge her. Make sure Catra knew she was wanted.

"Yeah, of course." She almost said something about being late because she had to sass Akrash, but she was glad she decided to be circumspect; her voice carried really well.

"Your majesty! I insist the girl absent herself for this discussion, I - "

Catra cut him off. "Cat. Ra. You know, my name? 'Girl' is a description." She at her mother. "You're sure he's a doctor? He doesn't seem very smart."

The man hissed. "How dare you, girl? I am a - "

"My name is Catra. Use it. Or I'll show you how much I 'dare.'"

The doctor flinched back, his hand going to his chest, and Catra remembered who he was - the doctor who'd woken her up. Catra had been told she'd scored him good, but not scarred him. He'd needed stitches, but had insisted on a whole private room to himself.

Lyra's tail tightened around Catra. "Dr. Lenio and the medical assembly have seen fit to remove him from active practice. Thus, I dismissed him from the castle infirmary. He is here to tell me why he thinks I should overrule the assembly."

Catra glared down at the doctor. "I hope he's been more respectful of you."

"Not really." Lyra sighed. "Though, he's managed to at least use my title while he insults me. Still, he has a right to speak as he wishes. It's the law, though you also have the right to tell him he's being rude. That's also allowed. He's not quite done making his case. Once he is, I will issue my decision."

He glared right back at the Queen and her daughter. "I suppose we'll have to hear the girl's opinion, too?"

Catra's ears flicked back. "Wow. I came out here to see my mother and I'm feeling really attacked right now. Not having a great time. I don't have an opinion, doc. Last thing I remember before your 'care' was being electrocuted unconscious by my Horde 'guardian.' When I woke up, I heard you call me filthy. Probably right, but still rude. You didn't deserve my claws, but calling the Guard down on me like I was a feral stray? Really?"

Catra had been given plenty of time to think and knew Lyra and Lenio agreed. The Guard had been told she was an attacker, not a scared, hurt girl. (Catra wasn't fond of that description, despite its accuracy.)

Catra wasn't sure much would have gone differently, but she wished she'd had the chance to find out. She didn't mind her reputation, but she knew it might get in the way someday. (Unless she found a way to change it.)

She heard a door off to the side, and saw Akrash and Cloudfoot slip in behind a railing where a few other people - including Doctor Lenio - were sitting.

"You were a danger to yourself and others! I had to - "

Catra stared at him as he trailed off. "Yeah, go on. Had to what, doc? Make sure I was put down? Put a leash on me so I could get my shots? Did you even try? You didn't say anything to me. Just woke up me and thought I'd lie there while you did whatever?"

There was a faint stir through the room, and Catra saw people looking at Arashu with disappointment. Disapproval. Even outright anger.

"Yes! I am a doctor, and you are - " He trailed off again.

Catra didn't wait for him this time. "I was a girl from the Horde. That's all you saw. Not a patient. Not a magicat. I was in my pajamas, and you only knew where I was from because Akrash told you. You told the Guard I was an enemy and a lot of them got hurt. If you'd told them anything different, how many would be okay? I spent a week being treated for what the Horde did to me. I wasn't okay. You were my doctor. Did you even notice?"

Catra had to push hard to admit weakness, but this dumb face windbag didn't get to talk to her like that. No one did. Not anymore. Especially not if he was rude to her mother. If shaming him got him to shut his mouth, then she would.

(Besides, even being 'not okay' she'd won against everyone but her mother.)

"I - " He had his tail in his hands and stared down at the floor. "No. I didn't. And I should have."

Lyra held up her hand. "Yes. You should have. As I told you before my daughter arrived, I am a mother. Not just a Queen, and thus, am deferring judgment to your peers. But I am not the wronged party. Nor are you. Catra, what do you say?"

Catra almost groaned. "I don't know a lot about doctors. Or the rules here. I know when you make a mistake and own up to it, I don't think it should ruin your life. No one died. People got hurt, but no one died. So maybe a second chance. Go back and re-learn what you messed up. Come back smarter. Respect people better."

Lyra turned to Lenio. "What say you?"

Lenio grumbled. "Catra's not wrong. He can retrain. Won't be fast or easy, but it won't be starting over, either. I can't say I like it, but I also won't say it's not fair. Until Catra, his record as a physician was good, other than being an ass."

Arashu shuffled his feet, still staring at the floor. "Please, your majesty. Your highness, I - "

"Catra." She interrupted again. "My name is Catra. One day, I might earn the titles, but right now, I'm just Catra."

"Catra, then." The doctor looked up. "I am sorry I failed you. I am sorry for my disrespect. You deserved better from me, and I should have known to give you better. I accept your judgment, if the Queen is willing. I will go back, and I will learn better, this time. I give you my word."

Catra looked at her mother, suddenly realizing she had all but taken over her mother's job. Suddenly aware of every eye on her, she forced herself not to reveal her sudden anxiety. "I'm good with it, if you are."

Lyra smiled softly at her. "I accept my daughter's solution. It is both fair and compassionate. Halfmoon should be both. You are dismissed, Dr. Arashu. May your path be clear and bright."

He bowed. "Thank you, your majesty. Catra."

As he backed away, Lyra turned and whispered arcane words. Catra fought back her flinch as magic rose around them, a faint purple bubble of light. "There. We can speak and they can't hear or read our lips."

Catra nodded, swallowed hard, she grabbed her tail, steadying herself for what an epic scolding. Maybe even punishment. She had all but usurped her mother! In front of everyone!

"I am so proud of you right now, my heart. That was - wise. Incredibly well done. From his disrespect to his dismissal of what he'd done wrong. That - after everything - you can forgive…"

Catra shook her head. "No! I messed up. I just - started talking. I shouldn't have said so much, this is your job and I jumped in and started - I shouldn't do that! And I don't forgive him! I'll never trust him. But I won't be like the Horde and throw people away. I humiliated him and sent him back to school for the chance to get his life back. That's not forgiveness. It's just not throwing him away."

She couldn't explain it. Not then, and certainly not there. She'd just done what Adora always said. Messing up wasn't bad if you owned it and tried to fix it, as long the damage wasn't permanent. You just had to try harder the next time.

Lyra sighed and shook her head. "You don't know what you did. He had been stripped of his right to be a doctor. Removed from service. He was refusing to admit he had done anything wrong. You forced him to, and then once he did, you found a solution to let Halfmoon keep a doctor who was, at one time, good enough to work in the castle. You did well. You are my daughter. You are their Princess. This is your job, too, Catra. And you did it well. The people here will talk about this, and it will matter to them. Thank you."

Catra nodded, stunned. She had jumped in, been impulsive and taken over, and she wasn't in trouble? She had done her job? It didn't make sense, but nothing about Halfmoon or Lyra or her life made sense. She was a Princess! How did that even happen?

She wanted to curl up in her mother's lap, but she couldn't. Not in front of all these people!

Lyra had not such compunctions and hugged her daughter tightly. "No one will mind a mother's indulgence, my heart. Now, I get to reward someone - the best part of my job."

Lyra dropped her spell, and her voice rang out. "A pause in the petitions, please. I call Akrash Dr'ardeth to present himself before Halfmoon."

Catra saw Akrash startle, then compose himself. She was glad she'd seen the shock. A reward, huh? She was going to have to point out she was right. Later.

Akrash strode around the railing, robes flowing around him. He stood in front of Lyra and bowed low, annoyingly graceful and smooth. "I am at your service, your majesty."

Lyra was smiling. "Rise, Akrash. I once told you I do not hold the sins of the parents against the child, and though I do not, others are foolish and do. You have braved much for your people. You braved the journey to Subtheria to find us. You braved the Fright Zone and the Horde to bring my daughter home. You have braved scorn and suspicion. You stood at my side and were willing to protect me. In all of this, you have asked only to be allowed to return home."

Akrash bowed his head. "Yes, your majesty. That is…that is all I want. To come home."

Catra knew he was trying to be somber and stoic, but she still heard the emotion. (Mostly, because she was listening for it.)

"Then thus I speak and all shall listen. I cannot still the fear and suspicion in the hearts of others, but I can declare you innocent of any crime against Haflmoon. I declare you are our loyal subject, a citizen of our nation, and that you have done great service for your people. Thus, I name you, Akrash Dr'ardeth, Lord of your House. The titles and lands seized from your parents are yours by right. The honor of your house and your line are restored to you, unblemished. Furthermore, I name you, Akrash Dr'ardeth, a Royal Sorcerer of Halfmoon, and take you into the service of my house and my line, if you are so willing."

Akrash stood in a silence for a long moment, and then knelt. "Your majesty, you do me much honor. I am pleased to be an ally to your house, honored to offer my service to Halfmoon as a sorcerer. But I do not want their title or lands. Let the noble house my parents sullied with treason remain broken - and forgotten. Let their line end with me. My service to our people will be with my skills and my knowledge as a magician, not as a noble."

Catra tensed. Would her mother be offended? She wasn't sure you were allowed to say no to a Queen of Etheria!

"Your humility is - " Lyra shook her head. "You again prove you didn't come here for power or riches or rewards. I grant all you ask, Akrash. You are home. You are welcome in my service, and you have more than earned the right to break their house and end their line. Thus, I speak, and all shall listen! The noble house of Dr'ardeth is no more. It stands broken by treason, dishonored by the actions of Kellam and Varlaine, last of their line. Before us stands Akrash of Mystacor, Royal Sorcerer of Halfmoon."

Akrash looked up, and Catra saw honest tears in his eyes. He clenched his fist and blue-white rings of power splayed out in front of him, runes burning in the air.

"I give my oath to Lyra Dr'iluth, Queen of Halfmoon. I will serve our people with my skills. With my knowledge. With all the arts and wisdom at my command. I will teach others as I have been taught, and I will stand against all who come to do them harm. This, I swear, on the broken oaths of my parents. This, I swear for the teacher who gave me a new life. This, I swear for the people I have longed to return to. This, I swear on my magic and my life."

Lyra stood and walked down the dais to stand in front of him. "And I swear to stand with you. To lead you with honor and guide you with what wisdom I have. To hear when you speak and to heed your counsel. To protect you as you protect Halfmoon and to shelter you as you stand for us. Stand with me, Akrash, as a Royal Sorcerer and loyal son of Halfmoon."

As Lyra spoke, Catra picked up her staff and walked down the dais. She didn't know the words, but she would stand with her mother. He had rescued her, even if she hadn't asked him to.

Even if he'd left Adora behind.

He deserved her support right then. She planted her staff on the ground, and stood at parade rest, behind her mother's shoulder. Support, she could give him. She hadn't forgiven him. Not yet.

Akrash took Lyra's hand and stood. "Thank you, your majesty. It is good to be home."

Chapter Text

Duncan's Tenemos

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Three weeks after Catra's abduction

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Wooden swords rapidly tapped against each other, flowing from block to strike, bouncing away and spinning back for the next move almost faster than her eyes could follow. The rapid-fire exchange was steady, controlled, focused in a way she'd never seen before in training. It was both created and organic at the same time as Duncan guided Adora through turning forms and techniques into the practice and execution of combat.

But Scorpia had grown up in the Horde. She'd learned martial skills in drills and formations. Nothing like the philosophy, the way of being and doing, Duncan was inculcating into Adora, day by day.

Scorpia saw intense concentration etched into Adora's pale face. She saw determination carved into the precision of her stance, the obsessive perfection of each movement. She saw the strain in the back of her neck each time she made some tiny error.

Duncan stood as if rooted to the floor, moving with casual ease and smooth, powerful grace, every movement flawlessly controlled and instinctive as he kept up a soft cadence of instruction, his voice rumbling. He was stern and he was demanding but he was never cruel. He was never mean. He was never harsh. He treated Adora with deference and respect, giving praise and criticism in equal measure and Adora seemed to live for those moments where she found out what she had done right.

It was a far cry from what Scorpia had expected.

It hadn't taken Scorpia long to realize her new assignment wasn't what she thought it was. Adora was not what she had expected - though, in retrospect, she wasn't sure what she had expected.

That first night, after Adora had filled her water bottles, she had gone through a regimented nighttime routine of exercise, hydration, hygiene, and preparation. She'd awoken hours earlier than anyone else the next morning and repeated the process. Even in a new place, Adora's routine was so ingrained, so developed, she didn't miss a beat.

She was ready to head to the mess hall as the other day-shift soldiers were crawling out of bed.

Adora had eaten breakfast quickly and mechanically, and then - with Scorpia's help - found Duncan's room. They'd had a few wrong turns and false starts, but they'd made it on time. Scorpia had been irritated it wasn't on her map and the directions Shadow Weaver had messaged were vague at best (but very dramatic. Scorpia had to give her that.)

Duncan had been waiting for them, just inside the doorway.

Scorpia had gone her best to glower at him (she knew her glower needed some work, but it was stronger than her glare) but he hadn't seemed to notice. He'd given Adora a very respectful half bow. He had been smiling warmly, seemingly eager.

Scorpia had not expected the murderous enemy prisoner to be warm and welcoming.

"Welcome, lady Adora, to my tenemos. The word is old Eternian, and it means 'sacred bastion.' This room is a place set apart from the rest of the world for learning to be a warrior. When you enter here, you are leaving everything behind but your training and your purpose."

Adora had blinked, taken aback at being called 'lady' but seemed to bite down on her questions. She had nodded with a deeply solemn, profoundly serious expression that looked terribly out of place.

Scorpia felt like Adora should have been a girl who smiled a lot. Laughed a lot. Not this darkly serious girl who seemed driven to be more than perfect.

The stocky man had gestured them in. -[

"As you enter, you bow." He demonstrated, bowing from the waist, with one hand pressed to his chest, thumb against his sternum, fingers pointing up, the other behind his back - without lowering his eyes from them. "This shows respect for the space, and for your training. Then you bow to me, as the Ahran, the teacher or guide. It literally means 'one who knows because they have done.'"

Adora had tried; her movements were stilted, awkward, but determined to get it right. Then Duncan had shown her to a small room where she had changed into her training uniform. Loose pants and red wraparound tunic belted in place with long strip of yellow canvas.

As Adora had changed, Duncan had turned to Scorpia. His eyes had been calculating, his voice soft, but his smile amused. "Who are you?"

Scorpia had followed the rules her mothers had taught her. Be nice, until it was no longer time to be nice. Respect and compassion above all, because without civility, there was no civilization. Without civility, people could not live together, work together, or achieve things greater than they could alone.

"Force Captain Scorpia. Adora's commanding officer."

The Eternian had huffed. Crossed his arms over his chest. Rolled his eyes. "I asked you a damn question, and you gave me your rank. Who are you?"

Scorpia had crossed her arms, her pincers clacking against her carapace. She gave him a hard look (well, she tried to). "I am Scorpia of the White Winds Nest. Technically Princess of the Empire, but that doesn't count."

The man had stood as tall as he could, he bowed again, just as he had before, but this time, he lowered his eyes. Scorpia knew - it was a sign of trust. Of respect. In spite of herself, in spite of her fear of him, she felt touched and honored.

"Well met, Princess Scorpia of the White Winds. I am Duncan of Eternia, Master of Arms to the Royal Court of Eternos, guardian of Greyskull, and ahran of this tenemos. As long as my lady is in your care, you and I are not enemies. You are welcome in my tenemos and in my home as my equal. You are free to use my space as yours; you are welcome to seek instruction, training, or just a good fight when you need it. I will stand with you as you stand with her."

Scorpia was steeped in the traditions and rituals of her people; traditions and rituals she never got to take part in, and in that moment, she felt like Duncan was inviting her into something just as special and important.

Scorpia had felt the words well up. "I will stand with you as you stand with us."

She had held out a pincer to him, knowing she was binding herself, her honor, her very being to something she didn't understand. But there was a part of her so desperate to belong - something so deeply ingrained in scorpioni, something denied to her for so long that when the moment came, she couldn't turn it down.

Duncan had reached up one large hand and wrapped around the chitin of her pincer, his fingers between the two cutting edges. Without hesitation. Without flinching. Without fear. Like she was a person, not a monster.

Duncan smiled at her, genial and warm. "You're too damn good for this Horde."

Scorpia had smiled back, again, in spite of herself. She wasn't supposed to agree with the enemy. Only, he wasn't the enemy now, was he? They had agreed they were not enemies. They weren't yet friends, but he wasn't her enemy.

"You called her 'lady' twice now?"

Duncan had held up his hands, each wrist shackled by a heavy iron cuff. "As long as I wear these cursed things, I am bound by these damn shackles to keep my silence on certain things. That is one of them. I will never lie to you, but I may not always be able to tell you all of the truth. You have my sincere apologies."

Scorpia had scowled at the cuffs. In theory, she understood their purpose, but she didn't like what she knew they did to him. She hadn't liked them before he had become not her enemy.

"I'm scorpioni. You only have to apologize for lies. Not for words you can't say."

She had been a little proud of herself. She had sounded like her mothers.

Adora had padded back out into the wide-open space of the tenemos, looking nervous and out of place. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she tried not to tug at her hair nervously.

He smiled at her. "Now, my lady, you're ready to start."

And Duncan had begun her instruction in kirith.

"There are martial traditions steeped in history - a lot of them, and most are proud, honorable traditions. But kirith was first. From the Osirians to the Eternians to everyone else. It simply means 'the way of taking action' and it comes from the word kiros - or the right moment for doing something. It is a warrior's tradition and a warrior's path. It is a way of fighting, a way of thinking, and a way of living. If you commit to it, you will become a new kind of warrior - one I've not seen in the Horde."

Scorpia had started to understand, and she didn't like it. Shadow Weaver was exploiting some connection between Duncan and Adora to force him to teach her to fight like the Princesses fought. It was ingenious. It was diabolical. It was manipulative, cold, and unfeeling and like so much Shadow Weaver did, it didn't sit well with Scorpia.

While Duncan had taught Adora, Scorpia had watched. She watched as Duncan treated Adora with a gentleness she didn't seem to know how to react to. He asked her permission before touching her, to adjust how she stood and how she moved. He taught her how to breathe. How to stand. How to walk. How to look around the room.

"Breathe right. From your diaphragm. Not your shoulders. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Breathing right is important - physically and metaphysically. It's the metaphor and the first lesson. Inside to outside. Energy in. Everything else out. It's focus. It's oxygen. It's the first thing we do when are born and the last thing we do when we die."

He had walked in a circle around her, watching. Adora stood and breathed. Over and over again, until she got it right. But Duncan also wanted her to stand right.

"Feet shoulder width apart. Point your toes forward, like your heels are on rails. Stand straight. Pull your body up by your shoulders and root your legs in the ground. Hands at your sides. Relax your muscles. No tension at all. Keep breathing. No matter what. Concentrate on your breath until it becomes natural."

Adora had looked up at him, eyes wide. Fearful. Duncan had carefully reached out, giving her room to move away, and put a hand gently on her shoulder. "You're doing well, my lady. It's hard, at first. It was for me too. I wanted to drink great gulps of air and roar, but my teacher, Dekker, made me stand on top of a rock, under the sun, and scream at nothing until I learned how important breathing is."

He laughed at the memory. "Nothing I teach you will matter if you can't breathe properly. Breathing right is the core of your focus. Proper breathing can calm the body and still the mind. Give you clarity and control. No matter what you learn, from who you learn it, no matter what you do - proper breathing won't fail you. Movement isn't powered by muscle. It's powered by breath and by will. May I?"

He held out his hands towards her, and Adora stared, frozen for a long moment before finally nodding.

Duncan adjusted her shoulders. "Breathing is the center. But if your body isn't standing right, sitting right, moving right, nothing else will matter. Balance your weight on your tendons, not your joints. They're flexible. Stand and move like there's a pole running from your tail bone up through the top of your head. It's your axis, and you won't move right if you stand wrong. Movement should come from your center - your hips. Your core."

Duncan, with almost exaggerated care, nudged her body into position. Twisted her body, showing her how to turn and move. (Scorpia noticed she was unconsciously mimicking, doing as Duncan said. Breathing carefully. Shifting how she stood. Moving from her hips. Some of it she knew. Some of it Adora knew - but no one had ever said it or explained it so clearly before.)

"Walk like you stand. Breath in, gather yourself. Breathe out, extend yourself. In and out. Open and close. Flow from movement to movement. Always. Now, step forward, towards me."

Adora took a step.

"Move heel to toe. Finish each step with weight on the balls of your feet. Stay balanced like I showed you, so you can rock back and forth and move side to side with quick, balanced steps. Now, when you step - bring your hands up. Relaxed hands. Relaxed arms."

Adora grinned and stepped into stance, hands up and lose. "Walking stance! Commander Cobalt showed us this when we were kids!"

"Yes! Exactly that. Excellent, my lady! Walking stance is a good name for it. We'll practice it a lot, until you can step into it forwards or backward or side to side. This stance is flexible - you can use it to fight three hundred sixty degrees around you. To move, to block, parry, redirect. Be aware that you are always standing in the middle of a circle, and inside the circle is where you work. You step, and the center of the circle moves with you. You carry your circle around you, always."

Scorpia realized what Duncan had been doing - showing Adora a freedom of movement most Horde soldiers never learned. Somehow, Adora adapted quickly, as if she'd already learned how to move openly and quickly, and the more she showed Duncan, the wider his smile got.

He had her practice walking forward and back, stepping to either side. As she started to move more fluidly, he would step in and randomly bump into her or step in her way, and Adora would have to move around, adjust for the bump or gentle shove.

"Small movements. You want to control where you move, even when you're pushed or pulled. Sometimes, big movements are important, but almost always, it's small movements. When you move, stay as close to me as you can."

To Scorpia, had looked like they were dancing around the center of the room. Him trying to bump or block her, and Adora stepping around him, her movements small and focused enough she often stayed close enough, nearly touching him but still avoiding him. Before long, Adora started trying to counter him as she moved, and Duncan had started showing her how to use the same movements to block and counter strikes and kicks. Showed her how to use her hands and arms and legs to counter him.

He never hit her. Not once. He tapped her where he would have struck her, just so she knew.

"Stances, my lady. Stances are the start and end of a fight. Ready to ready. If breathing focuses and standing is where motion begins, stances are the transitions between motions, where if you are still in the right way, you have the potential to move in the right direction, in the right way, at the right time."

Duncan had her practice various stances, raising and lowering her arms slowly with each breath. Counting one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, all the way to ten-one thousand with each breath and each movement. He adjusted her body as she shifted from one stance to another.

He would call out stances, having her step into it. Then the next. And the next.

He had paid attention to her energy level. Making her stop for a drink of water. Making her take breaks and sit. Or stretch. He ran her through more stretches than Scorpia knew existed, keeping her limber and flexible and not letting her stiffen up or hurt herself.

(Scorpia tried a few of the stretches. They were brutal and made her muscles scream, and Duncan had quietly stepped aside to show her different ways. Different stretches. Even if Scorpia thought a man built like him shouldn't be that flexible. To say nothing of her amazement at Adora's almost unnatural flexibility.)

He made her practice series of movements. Forms - but different than the blocks and punches and kicks the Horde taught. More refined. He was more particular about each movement.

"Kirith is about natural motion. Don't force your body. Let your body tell you how to move. Don't think about it. Just move. Don't fight it. Feel it. You'll know when it feels right."

They moved together; and she mirrored him.

The movements blended together, each shift of his body causing one motion to become another. As she moved, he showed her what each movement was. A block. A strike. Avoidance. Redirection.

Each motion had more than one purpose and each motion could change, becoming something completely different.

"Muscle memory is built into people at the most basic, genetic, evolutionary level. It's how we walk. How we move - grabbing things, eating, using doors - it's all movement our bodies have memorized so we don't have to think about it. Practice these movements, memorize the sequences, and repeat them over and over and over until your muscles remember for you. Until it becomes as much a part of you as breathing or walking or standing. What I'm showing you must happen without thought. Without effort."

Adora almost - but not quite - rolled her eyes. "I know that, Ahran."

Duncan smiled indulgently. "You do. You know it. Do you understand it? How to make muscle memory work, to become what it needs to be to be used in a fight?"

She looked down, ashamed. Duncan shook his head and raised her chin to face him. "My lady, no. You are here to learn what you do not know. I ask the question because I do not know the answer. If you do understand, then we can move on to the next thing! If you don't, then I know what to teach you. I never expect my student to know what it is my purpose to teach."

Adora blinked, and Scorpia saw her hand come up and clasp his - instinctively seeking comfort. "It's…it's okay if I don't know?"

She said it like it was a revelation.

He nodded. "It is. Now, that lesson is one we learn over time, bit by bit. But the answer is to teach our muscles to remember how to react in the right way during a fight and we train until we don't have to remember. We just have to do."

Scorpia had realized - she had the chance to learn, too. To become a better leader. A better soldier. And eventually, a better teacher. If she ever did get to teach in the creche, Duncan would be the one who taught her how.

As Scorpia had stood and listened, she realized he was teaching her, too. On purpose.

"Lady Adora. Tell me - why do you fight? What is your purpose in taking up arms?"

Scorpia was shocked when Adora answered; unlike every other time Adora had spoken, her voice was steady and clear.

"To protect people. Someone has to fight to protect those who can't. Someone has to keep them safe from the things no one should be expected to fight. I chose that fight, because I understand the cost of not fighting."

"Very well said, Lady Adora." Duncan had smiled and nodded. "That is really the only right answer for the use of violence. I'm damn proud of you already. What are you protecting them from?"

Again, Adora had answered without hesitation. Without equivocation. "Princesses. Queens. Sorcerers. Those who rule by fiat. Those who rule with magic and power that drives them mad. Those who rule because they say, 'I will protect you with my power only if you let me be in charge.' Those who crush innovation and progress because it will change things, and they only want change they control and benefit from. Those who step on the people they rule, who discard those who aren't useful, who aren't 'good enough' or who aren't enough like everyone else to be wanted."

Adora's last statement had felt deeply personal to her. Deeply emotional - but it was deeply personal, deeply emotional, deeply meaningful to Scorpia, too. Because Adora had basically said: 'I will defend you. I will defend your people. Because they are people and deserve it.'

Few in the Horde remember the scorpioni had been first. Fewer treated them like they mattered, for all they were the core of industry, of building, of supporting the Horde and its mission to free Etheria from corruptive, tainted magic.

Duncan had smiled again. And that warmer, more open, wiser side of him shone through.

"What of rulers who are not these things? Who rule because their people say 'we trust you' and who use their power -magic or otherwise - to protect their people, often at great cost to themselves? Those who lift their people up and shelter those who are different or need more? Those rulers who give everything of themselves to be wise and kind and just?"

Adora had shaken her head. 'Those people aren't my enemies. I don't know them. I don't know if they exist, but I don't want to fight people who aren't my enemies."

"Lady Adora, you are going to be a joy to teach. You already have more wisdom in your hair poof than most people have in their entire souls."

Adora had flushed, her hands going to the poof of hair at the front of her head, and for a brief moment, Adora had looked like a teenage girl. "Hey! Lay off the poof. I like it."

Duncan had laughed. "Fair enough, Lady Adora. And I see that look on your face. I will call you what you are, whether you like it or not. You are going to be a warrior, and where I am from, you get the title 'Lady' Deal with it. But I'll lay off your hair."

Duncan had taught Adora. For sixteen hours a day, six days a week, he taught her with endless patience, impossible endurance, and a level of knowledge and skill Scorpia would have thought impossible. He knew more about how to fight, how to think about fighting, and how to use those skills than anyone she'd ever met. He brought out Adora's shy smile more often than anyone else. He encouraged her. He never scolded. He never said 'you are doing it wrong.' It was always 'this way is better. Easier.'

And he made sure to tell her when something she knew and did was right. Which happened a lot more than Scorpia had ever seen happen in any training. Ever.

Duncan had quickly deemed her 'better than average' with a staff, and decent with a baton. He had been openly impressed with her knife skills and had decided she would master the sword.

"The sword is the soul of kirith. I prefer a mace, and my - my former student loves her staff. But you, my lady. You were born to use a sword. From the way you move to the way you think, the sword will be your weapon. Even more than a knife."

(Having seen how frighteningly good Adora was with knives, Scorpia had trouble believing it. Duncan proved her wrong.)

He had brought out two wooden practice swords he called kiari. Elegant and well-crafted from rich, dark red wood with hilts wrapped in supple, smooth brown leather.

"These came with me when I was captured. A kiros carries their weapons and tools with them, always, and most who study kirith have their own kiari. It is their constant companion. A weapon. A tool for learning. A tool for practice. Meditation. A symbol of all they have achieved. This will be yours. Keep it with you always. Care for it like your life depended on it - this is one of the second disciplines."

(The first disciplines, they later learned, were breathing and motion. Standing, falling, and flowing.)

Since then, he had made Adora carry hers with her everywhere. She slept with it. She cleaned it, polished it, and it never left her side. He had her wear a knife in her boot and keep her staff on her hip.

And while Adora worked form after form, drilled techniques, or worked on her flexibility, Duncan quietly trained Scorpia, too. He gave her exercises to help with her coordination. With her technique. With her control of her strength.

She and Adora were more sore and more tired than they'd ever been. They'd bonded, a bit, over what an unrelenting taskmaster Duncan was - even if Adora never called her anything other than 'Force Captain.' But Scorpia had seen changes in how Adora moved. How she held herself. She wasn't sure, but maybe she had some of the same changes?

When they walked out of the tenemos every day, the guards seemed more respectful. Others gave them a wider berth. More space. Some of the soldiers had even started doing their chores after Scorpia had let Adora use her as a living pells in the bunk room, practicing her staff and sword strikes against her carapace!

Scorpia hadn't threatened them exactly. She had only quietly mentioned anyone not pulling their weight in the barracks might have to be Adora's sparring partner and Duncan's demonstration dummy.

(Scorpia was also immensely proud of Adora. She had signed up for the chore chart voluntarily. And did her chores. It was wonderful to have someone who wanted to be a part of their community.)

The day before Adora was due to start her magical training with Shadow Weaver, they left the tenemos early. To Scorpia's shock (and excitement!) Shadow Weaver had kept her promise. Adora was going to get a full check-up in the main infirmary, from an actual doctor - and Scorpia was going to finally see more of Adora's medical records.

Infirmary

Main Training Complex

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Three weeks after Catra's abduction

Scorpia had no idea what to think. Or what to do.

Adora was terrified. It made no sense! Even her redacted record showed she had been to the Infirmary dozens of times. She should be an old hand with it. But her cadet was in the scratchy, overly starched gown, on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. Waiting with wide eyes. Shallow breathing. She wasn't trembling like she did in the dark - the Infirmary was always brightly lit, thankfully.

Adora wasn't in one of the private rooms and they hadn't drawn curtains around her. Scorpia would have, but there were no curtains. They were in the main triage area. They'd never done her physicals anywhere but a private room! There were two long lines of uncomfortable beds along either wall, with doors at the back leading further into the medical wing. The beds on the opposite walls all had curtains for privacy.

Other cadets were being treated for various minor injuries, and at least one broken bone. So she was willing to wait for the doctor. But she already had a few questions for them. Like, how they had scared her cadet so badly and why Adora wasn't given privacy.

Scorpia knew she was frowning. Maybe even scowling.

The astringent antiseptic scent stung Scorpia's nose and none of the chairs were made for people with tails, but she'd come prepared with her own folding stool. She'd planted herself right next to Adora's bed and wasn't going to move until Adora felt safer. The doctors might ask her to go, but Scorpia knew they didn't have any way to force her to leave. Not without a lot of property damage, anyway.

Eventually, one of the medics came over and took Adora's vitals. With disdainful disinterest, he scanned her temperature, respiration, heart rate, blood pressure, and a few other things.

He sighed every time she flinched. Rolled his eyes when he had to hold her trembling hand steady.

When he was done, he called out over his shoulder. "Yeah, doc. She'll need it. She's already halfway to hyperventilating. And some Force Captain is just - sitting here? Want me to move her?"

A voice shouted back from behind a curtain. "Full dose, then! And the Force Captain can leave. We'll bring the cadet back in the morning."

The medic turned back as Scorpia leaned forward. She smiled at the medic, her tail coming up over her shoulder. She was really not comfortable with - well, any of that. "You know, I really think, as her commanding officer, I'll stay. I also think, since I'm a Force Captain and you're not, you're going to explain. Especially the part about bringing her back in the morning. Because that's not really going to work for me."

The medic paled and his eyes went almost as wide as Adora's. "Uhhh…"

Scorpia cleared her throat. "Not the best answer, medic. I expect better. More details."

Adora had turned her head, her unbound hair falling over one side of her face as she stared at Scorpia in utter confusion.

The medic cleared his throat, but the doctor was walking up behind him, his Horde uniform clean and pressed. Tall, with pointed ears and an equally pointed mustache, he was clearly going bald, despite his hair being black.

He was removing his apron and gloves and reaching for another clean set. "Oh, please, Force Captain. Cadet Adora is a frequent visitor. This is hardly unusual, except she is here for a physical, not an injury. She tends to be highly reactive to medical procedures and often panics." The scornful disapproval in the doctor's voice was palpable. "We generally give her a strong sedative, which she sleeps off overnight. You can go. You're hardly needed for a check-up."

Scorpia frowned. Her feeling of 'not okay' was escalating to 'concern' and even 'irritation.'

"Adora, do you want the sedative?"

Adora shook her head. "No. I want to know what they're doing to me."

Scorpia turned back to the doctor, her eyes narrow. That explained a few things. A cadet worried about being sick or injured getting sedated and then not knowing was done to her? Panic was a reasonable response. Especially when it could be avoided with a little compassion.

"Adora." She didn't look away from the doctor, but her voice was far softer than her stare. "Do you want me to stay?"

Scorpia wasn't given to panic, but she'd seen it many times. Adora was panicking as soon as the question left her mouth. Adora's hand shot out and gripped Scorpia's pincer hard enough she felt it through her chitin.

"Don't leave me alone with them. Please, Force Captain." Her voice was hoarse and she was tense enough Scorpia could see the muscles in her neck flexing.

"Then I'm staying." Easy decision. If her being there made Adora feel safer and kept the doctor from sedating her, she wasn't moving.

Adora relaxed slightly, her breath escaping hard and fast as she nodded. She pulled her arm back to herself.

"You heard her, doc. No sedation. I stay. I'll take her medical records, while you're getting set up. Drop them to my tablet. Thanks!" She spoke warm and enthusiastically, hoping being cheerful would defray some of the reaction.

It didn't work. The doctor rolled his eyes. "Force Captain, you should go about your duties. I am quite capable of deciding what to do with one uncooperative and whiny cadet."

Scorpia's tail twitched. It was reflex!

"Shadow Weaver," Scorpia said the name loudly and clearly, "has given me one job. My only duties are to train Adora and make sure Adora gets trained. She's my literally whole job! Lucky for you, I don't have to leave. I'd hate having to find Shadow Weaver and explain why things went badly today, after she went to all the trouble of setting up this appointment!"

The doctor tugged at his sleeves, rolling them up as he stuck his hands under hot water. "Fine. Have it your way. You can carry her back if I have to sedate her and you can hold her down if she's uncooperative."

He dried his hands as the medic frantically worked his tablet. He had seen the tail twitch. Being a medic, he knew what Scorpia's venom could do.

A second later, Scorpia's tablet chimed as a new file popped up. She opened it, watching as the doctor prepared. She noticed the medic putting a syringe of what she assumed was sedative off to the side, but the needle was still capped.

As she read, her eyes went wide. How many injuries had Adora had?! Sprained ankles. Sprained wrists. Injuries to both knees. Multiple - so many! - concussions. Lacerations, blunt force traumas. Broken ribs. Electrocutions. Blaster burns. Abrasions. Significant contusions. Torn muscles. Strained ligaments. So many cracks in bones and even three surgeries to repair damage.

It was horrifying to read.

There were no metrics for standard height and weight. Or much of anything else to compare to. Which made no sense. Maybe further back in her records, with her vaccines?

No vaccines, because her -

Her species was unknown. They knew, from DNA analysis, Adora wasn't Etherian - she didn't match any known species, sub-species, or hybrid on Etheria. Her DNA was foreign. There were notes about extrapolations they had made based on available data. There was a short report on her made to Hordak and Shadow Weaver, though it was almost ten years old.

Subject is likely to develop musculature, reflexes, and nerve conduction at higher levels than her Etherian counterparts, though the exact speed of maturation and development is unknown. Subject's bone density is notably higher than Etherian counterparts, outside of Crimson Waste hybrids or orc-stock from the same region.

(Possibility exists she is an Etherian variant from that region, though unlikely, given variances in DNA structure.)

Subject is likely to have comparably better hearing and sense of smell than Etherian counterparts but will lack low-light vision of any kind. Potentially highly reactive to sunburn and chemical burns with potential allergies to any number of known chemical and biological reagents known, but no way of knowing severity of or if those allergies will manifest. Standard vaccines not recommended.

Subject will demonstrate higher than average tolerances to heat and cold but will likely require higher caloric intake. Subject may experience periodic or chronic dehydration on standard water rationing, but, upon testing, dehydration does not seem to cause deleterious effect. Extra rations are recommended but not required. Subject may require less sleep than average, but this is very difficult to predict with current data.

Scans indicate Commander Weaver was correct; subject possesses reservoirs for vast amounts of undifferentiated magical energy, not unlike repositories of magical energy the Research and Discovery division has examined, most such being First One in origin. Subject's magical energy appears to be holding stable and does not appear to be interacting with her in any measurable or detectable way. There is an ebb and flow of magical energy - a discharge and recharge - brought about by significant physical or emotional stress. Further observation is required.

Scorpia stared at the report in mute horror. Testing for dehydration? What other tests did they put Adora through? She would have been so young when they did this? No wonder she was scared of doctors!

No vaccines? She wasn't Scorpioni, so the rot couldn't take her, but there were so many diseases!

She had made a mistake asking for the exam. She would find a way to make it up to Adora, but she was going to watch the doctor and medic and make sure they didn't do anything out of line. She quietly called up the protocols for a standard Horde physical on her tablet.

Scorpia looked up as the doctor finally walked over to begin his exam. "Up, Cadet. On your feet. Gown off."

Without any privacy?! Scorpia cleared her throat. "Shouldn't she be examined behind a curtain?"

The doctor scoffed. "I have been conducting physicals for the Horde for almost two decades, Force Captain. We rarely have Cadets behind curtains for such. You were an exception, due to your - lineage. And Lord Hordak's insistence on your comfort. We have no such orders here."

Scorpia opened her mouth to argue, but Adora shook her head slowly.

Adora looked up at the doctor and said nothing as she stood, letting her gown fall into the bed. Scorpia saw more than a few scars, including some lightning burns that looked recent.

Her face was a blank, expressionless mask. The doctor and medic scanned her skin, her eyes, the length of her limbs, even plucked a single hair from her head with tweezers. They checked her height, weight, and her teeth. Reflexes. The exam was the same one Scorpia had been given every year she could remember. Not as invasive as her adult exams, but those would come for Adora in time.

Scorpia hoped, by then, Adora had a different doctor.

"Hmph." The doctor gave Adora a disappointed stare. "You are still quite - small. Our predictions had you looking more like your Force Captain than you. Still dehydrated, but that's to be expected. Given your health and level of injuries, you are within acceptable limits, I suppose."

How could the doctor make Adora feel bad for how small she was? That wasn't something she had control over!

They drew blood - far more than Scorpia thought they should, but that seemed harmless enough, especially given Adora had different blood chemistry. They finally allowed her to put the gown on and get back on the bed where they tested lung function, her vision, her hearing, even her sense of smell.

Adora was blank. She gave monotone answers with as few words as possible. She let the doctor and medic move her around, tug on her.

Finally, they took her to a small, walled off area. Scorpia followed, and watched as they put electrodes on her and had her run on a treadmill, punch and kick a series of targets, push and pull against a bar, and demonstrate balance and flexibility.

The doctor nodded as he noted things on his tablet. "Significantly better than expected, especially given your size. Shadow Weaver has seen to your training well. Go to the bathroom. Provide a urine sample, then return to the bed. We will be with you presently."

Adora looked over at Scorpia, who nodded. She followed Adora to the small bathroom, then stood outside the door to wait. Eventually, she came out and returned to the bed, sitting as close to Scorpia as she could and still be on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Oh! Adora! Hi!" Both Adora and Scorpia looked up startled as a thin, gangly blond sitting on the bed next to hers looked up with a bright smile. "I guess they really are checking us all!"

Adora smiled wanly, but the smile was genuine. "Kyle. Hi. Yeah. Special trip back over here for me. Glad it's a check-up and not you getting hurt again."

The boy - Kyle? - laughed. "Yeah, me too. Rogelio and Lonnie would be so mad if I accidentally broke myself again. But it's been months since I was really hurt! I promise! Anyway, hang on - " the boy somehow bent himself around to lean off the side of the bed, rifling around in his bag. " - I brought these to send to you. Thought they might help, you know?"

He sat up, almost falling off the bed as he lost his balance. But almost as if Adora had been waiting for it, faster than Scorpia would have thought, Adora had unfolded herself, leaned over and caught him by the upper arm. "Careful, Kyle. You almost fell off the bed again."

"Oh! Yeah. I guess so! Sorry!" He rubbed the back of his head. "Thanks, Adora. Man, it is good to see you. You look good. More muscle-y even, which I would have said couldn't happen. Wow. I hope the training is going good over there. I can only, erm, see so much stuff about you when I, uh, log in to certain things…"

Adora laughed as she pulled her arm back. "Still logging into personnel, then? You really shouldn't. You'll get caught one of these days. But yeah, things are good. That's my Force Captain there- Scorpia. She's good, don't worry. Kyle was one of my old squad. Smartest tech cadet there is."

She's good. Don't worry. Even if Scorpia were completely sure Adora had been talking about Kyle hacking into records he shouldn't see, she wouldn't report him now. Not after that. Especially since Adora had said it with as much pride as she'd used talking about Kyle.

Kyle looked over at her and his mouth opened slightly. "Whoa…she looks like she could bench press a tank."

"I can!" Scorpia couldn't help herself. She flexed her bicep and Kyle's eyes went wide. But it was true. She could bench press a tank.

"Well, maybe you can keep up with Adora. Without Catra here anymore, no one else can, that's for sure!" Kyle kept smiling as he held up a large pack of high-capacity batteries - the kind that could run for years without needing a recharge. He didn't seem to notice the look of complete devastation on Adora's face. "I saw your new gear requisitions, anyway, and I saw you'd been issued a bunch of those old, funky batteries. Since I'd, well, erm - collected? - these, I was going to send them over to you when I was done here, but here you are! So here!"

Adora barely got her arms up in time for the batteries to fall into her cupped hands. Scorpia could see how happy the boy was to see Adora. To be able to give her something she could use.

He had. The batteries Adora had requested were for her lamp. The light crystal was eternal; its battery wasn't.

Scorpia could tell Adora had seen it too. She forced herself to smile at Kyle. "Thank you, Kyle. I know just what I'll use them for. That's actually…well, pretty useful."

The boy beamed. "I can't wait to tell the others I ran into you and tell them you're doing good. You are doing good, right?"

Adora laughed softly, nodding. She reached down and picked up her kiari, holding the wooden sword up. "I'm going to be a champion. Training with swords. Special combat training with an instructor only for me and Scorpia. Magic lessons start again soon. I'm as good as I can be, Kyle. I promise. Force Captain Scorpia is a good commanding officer, and I even got new boots." She pointed down at them.

Kyle bounced. Actually bounced on the bed. "Oh, fantastic! Lonnie got a bunch of new cadets right after you left, and we got more since! We've got a lot more to do and Shadow Weaver talks to Lonnie sometimes. Not like you and Catra, I mean, we're all there, but she still does. And…"

Scorpia watched Adora's face as Kyle rambled. That look of devastation was still there, but she was happy to see him, and obviously listening intently. She leaned forward, soaking in what he told her.

Scorpia quickly pulled up what she needed on her tablet, looking up the name 'Catra.'

The information was sparse. Like Adora, Catra had no species listed, but instead of 'unknown' it was 'feline hybrid, origin unknown.' There was more physical data than on Adora, including comparisons of Catra to other beast hybrids.

She was a cadet in Shadow Weaver's command cadre. Or had been. Apparently, right before Adora had been transferred to Special Training Command, Catra had taken Orphan's Right and gone back to her people.

She had a lot of reprimands in her file. Very few training failures, though. She had consistently high scores - but Scorpia bet everyone in that unit had higher than average scores. As she skimmed the reprimands, she saw Adora's name featured in those. In fact, some of the reprimands were for the same incidents Adora had reprimands in her file for.

Reading between the lines, Scorpia realized. Adora and this 'Catra' had been close. Very close. They were both anomalies. They were both unique. And Catra had left Adora behind.

Scorpia frowned at Catra's photo. She didn't look like a wasteland hybrid. She looked like the pictures she'd seen in her mothers' histories. She looked like a magicat. What was a magicat doing in the Horde?

For that matter, how did a magicat go home, when they were all dead?

I guess there might be a few survivors in the Crimson Waste, or hidden here and there? She liked knowing her people's ancestral allies might not have been completely wiped out by the mysterious disaster that had burned their kingdom to ash, but there was nothing she could do to help the survivors. Her own people were barely hanging on even with the Horde's help.

She read further on, finding notes about Adora being the one to discover Catra wasn't an animal. Notes about Adora teaching Catra to walk. Talk. She saw Commander Cobalt's evaluation the two of them sharing a bunk 'wasn't material to training or morale and to just get over it.' And a follow-up, from a year ago that was basically an 'I told you so' from the same Commander Cobalt.

They were close enough they shared a bunk? Since childhood?

She saw a note from the creche that Adora had given Catra her name. That separating the two for cadet training would be 'inadvisable' if Shadow Weaver wanted to 'maintain unit cohesion and discipline.'

She looked at Adora, who was watching Kyle talk animatedly, his hands gesturing wildly.

Oh.

Chapter Text

The Black Garnet Chamber

The Main Horde Compound

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Three weeks after Catra's abduction

"It's not my first time, you know." Adora knelt to tie her boots. "Shadow Weaver has tried to teach me magic off and on since I was little. I'll probably be fine."

Adora wasn't sure if she was lying or not. She didn't think she was, but sometimes magic lessons got very intense, very fast. It depended on Shadow Weaver's mood.

Scorpia, sitting on her bunk, crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought that about the checkup yesterday. That wasn't fine."

Adora stood and dusted off her pants. "Ugh. We really are the only ones who sweep in here, aren't we? I'll sweep when I get back, I guess? Doctors are - well, doctors are. Medics are a little better, but only outside the infirmary. That's just my life."

Because they don't know what I am.

She wasn't sure how else to explain it to her Force Captain. It just was. Doctors wanted to know what she was. How she worked. They poked. Prodded. Tested. Endurance tests. Visions tests. How long could she hold her breath? (A long time, apparently?) How long could she go without food or water? (Not long enough.)

She'd hated it, but everyone told her it was necessary, to trust the doctors. But she hadn't trusted doctors since she was nine and they hurt Catra. Adora didn't know what happened, not really. She had guesses. She didn't like any of them. She just knew she'd used her magic to heal her friend.

Ever since, her fear of doctors and what they might do had been paralyzing.

Every time she was injured, there were more tests. She got injured enough she was in the infirmary a lot. At least General Vultak and Dr. Tempus weren't involved anymore. As far as she could tell, they'd gotten a little too proprietary about her in her early teens and Shadow Weaver had revoked their access to her. She hadn't had a full check-up since then. Until yesterday.

She was afraid it was all about to start again. She didn't tell Scorpia that; her Force Captain already felt bad enough about asking for the check-up.

"That makes no sense. Your life makes no sense, Adora. None." Scorpia leaned forward and sighed. "And I'll clean up while you're gone."

Adora rolled her eyes. She didn't know what made sense or didn't make sense. It was just her life - it was. She didn't know any different.

"Or yell at some people and make them do it? You're the Force Captain. We follow your orders. I mean, it's not bad all the time? Shadow Weaver chose me when I was little. Because of magic. I try to just - make the best of it. What else can I do?"

She felt guilty when she talked about Shadow Weaver like that. The Horde had taken her in. Raised her. Shadow Weaver had always been her biggest advocate. Had always believed in her, even when there was no reason to! Even when her certainty about Adora was the most frightening thing she could think of.

"I don't like fussing. I'll send reminders to everyone's tablets, but I've got it this time! And making the best of it is good. I wish being special meant things were easier for you, sometimes. All those tests when you were a kid had to be - well, I don't like it."

"Neither do I." Adora pulled on her jacket and checked her pockets for everything. Identchip. A few tools she never left behind. The small blue stone Catra used to play with. Half a blue ration bar. And dealing with the open secret of - her. "I guess they told you. About me."

It made sense. Scorpia was her commanding officer. She'd always known more people would learn as she got assigned to different units. Keeping her a secret was always going to be impossible, no matter what anyone did.

"Not so much told me. They let me know, in their own way. I saw part of your file. It said you aren't any known Etherian species."

Scorpia was trying to whisper, even though the barracks were empty; everyone did, when they talked about it. It felt like a big secret, and sometimes Adora wanted it to be. Sometimes, she wished everyone knew and could get over it.

Scorpia handed Adora her knife, watching as her cadet secured it in her boot.

"Nice way to say no one knows what I am. Or where I came from." She shrugged. Younger Adora had loved speculating about what she might be. What combination of species she might be. Catra had always teased her and said she had to have some Princess in her.

"You're all pale and blonde and pretty. You have magic. You're stupid cheerful. Gotta be Princess blood. Only explanation for you, princess."

It felt like a distant, impossible question now.

"I don't think about it much anymore. I want to know, but how would we ever find out?" Adora tied her strip of red leather around her kiari and slung it over her shoulders. Scorpia handed her a water bottle, but Adora waved it off. "No. Shadow Weaver doesn't let me bring water in there."

Scorpia's expression conveyed her opinion, but she didn't argue. Arguing with Shadow Weaver wasn't usually a good plan. "Duncan seems to know things about you?"

Adora swallowed hard, feeling her stomach drop out from under her. "Yeah. He might. He seems to think he does, but…I don't know. We can't ask him. He can't tell us. That's never going to change." She tugged at her ponytail, clenching her eyes shut. "Do you know how hard it is? Not asking him? Not asking her? Not knowing when an answer might be this close?"

Adora sat down next to Scorpia. "Force Captain, I want to know. Asking Shadow Weaver is useless. Until she wants me to know, she won't tell me. Assuming Duncan does know and she believes him."

Adora didn't even get into whether or not Duncan was right. Or how he might prove it.

Scorpia nudged Adora with her shoulder. "Fair. But don't give up. We'll find out. Somehow, okay?"

Adora nodded, but she knew better. She'd known Shadow Weaver her entire life, and she knew her guardian wanted her to succeed. To fight for Etheria. She knew Shadow Weaver hated the Princesses and what they did as much as anyone, but she also knew Shadow Weaver used knowledge as a weapon.

If Shadow Weaver knew how badly Adora wanted to know, it would be used a weapon against her. It wasn't personal. It was just how Shadow Weaver did things, and it was the kind of leverage she could never get back.

She had spent most of her life telling people it didn't matter what she was. She had wanted to tell Scorpia the same, but hadn't been able to make herself. It was as if she needed at least one person in her life who understood. She was always going to be looking for who she was.

Catra had been right making her promise never to ask Shadow Weaver. She would keep that promise. She knew she should tell Scorpia about her magic - and Catra - but she wasn't ready to talk about Catra. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Yeah. Maybe. But, I gotta go. Can't be late."

She stood, gave Scorpia a quick salute, and jogged off. Being late for her magic lesson would be a bad idea. No matter how little she'd slept.

As she jogged out through the mess hall, she purposefully avoided looking at Octavia, who was sneering and staring as Adora raced past. She laughed nastily as Adora fumbled with the door.

Doesn't she have anything better to do than sit there and eat and watch me?

Adora stepped into the pitch black. Her breath caught and her heart pounded, but she was through the blackness in just a few steps and then out the front door.

She hadn't lied to Scorpia. She would probably be fine. At least, the first lesson or two. The first two were almost always review, talking about magic. Testing Adora for magic wasn't fun and it hurt, but it wasn't as bad as what would come later.

She jogged across the Fright Zone faster than she expected. According to her watch, she'd cut almost two minutes off her time. She ducked into the main training complex, slowing to a fast walk. The guards knew better than to bother her - they knew she belonged to Shadow Weaver. She headed down familiar green metal corridors, the echoes of her footfalls drowned out by the whine of the HVAC.

Magic lessons were always the same. She always failed. Shadow Weaver had a list of all the ways Adora failed. Not trying hard enough. Not focusing. Not following directions. Being afraid. Being less intelligent than she should be. Being weak. Being soft. Being disrespectful. Not having the right mindset.

Not having the right mindset. Not showing respect.

Adora nodded to herself as she walked. She could try, couldn't she? Show respect. Show she was trying to get into the right mindset? Besides, Shadow Weaver deserved at least as much respect as Duncan. She was her first teacher, her guardian, and she was giving Adora another chance she didn't really deserve.

When she approached the door to the Black Garnet chamber, she pulled off her boots and socks like she did for the tenemos. She tapped the code into the door and slipped into the dim room, into the blood-red, humid light of the Black Garnet.

She'd never liked it or trusted it; it was a RuneStone, and while it might know better than to hurt Shadow Weaver, Adora sometimes wondered if it wanted to hurt her and Catra. If it liked their pain.

It always felt like it was watching her - making the back of her neck prickle and her skin feel tight and warm. Like it was always trying to push its magic into her. It seemed to radiate magic - Catra had felt it too. Like hot needles barely touching their skin. Even the floor felt warm under her feet.

She set her boots down inside the door and bowed to Shadow Weaver the way she would entering the tenemos.

Shadow Weaver floated next to the Garnet, bathed in the red glow. She tilted her head as Adora bowed. She said nothing. Adora rose from her bow, her hands clasped in front of her. She tried not to fidget; she knew Shadow Weaver hated it.

"I don't know any other rituals to show respect, Shadow Weaver, but you were my teacher before Duncan, and I won't show you less respect than I show him."

Shadow Weaver floated down. "Very well, Adora. It shows you are taking your training seriously, if nothing else. Now, sit. I see you are following directions and carrying that weapon with you. Good. I too, have uses for such an exercise."

Adora sat, crossing her legs, trying to be as still as possible. The need for stillness was always the hardest part; she always wanted to move.

"Now, Adora. This time, you cannot fail. We cannot stop these lessons as we have in the past. You understand this, I hope?"

Adora nodded slowly. "Yes, Shadow Weaver. This time, I have to get it right. No matter what."

The sorceress floated in a circle around her. "Hmm. No matter how long it takes or how hard it is. As it has been some time since we last tried this, we will start again, at the beginning. Tell me, Adora. What is magic?"

At least she was starting on easy, familiar ground. "Magic is the energy of the world."

It was the answer Shadow Weaver liked, but the books she'd had Adora read told a slightly different story. Magic was the primordial, quintessential force driving the world, yes - the first catalyst for creation and destruction, but it also preserved and healed. Using magic was shaping that energy through will - as long as you had the ability to sense and touch that energy.

Adora knew she did. She should be able to do this.

"I am pleased you remembered." Shadow Weaver floated to a stop. "It has been some time since we discussed your magic."

Adora almost laughed. 'Some time' was a funny way of saying 'never.' Shadow Weaver had never explained her magic to her. Not once.

"Light magic. Dark magic. Very limiting terms, most of the time. Defined by people afraid to face the truth that magic is simply is and does not conform to their morality. Light and dark are better understood as sources of magic."

Shadow Weaver floated down, a chair of shadows forming under her. "Some claim dark and light are based on intention, on the character of the caster. Or how magic is accessed. These distinctions don't matter, either. What matters is control, Adora. Magic must be controlled, lest it controls us - as we see with the Princesses. Light and dark are more about what magical energy is best suited for. How the energy was created and gathered and shaped. Dark magic wants to impact the world. To command. Light magic wants to reveal. Heal. Defend. Cleanse. You, Adora, are filled with light magic. There is much I can do you cannot, and some things you can do I cannot. Such as…heal."

Adora felt beads of sweat run down the back of neck. Did Shadow Weaver know?

"I believe, Adora, one day, you will be able to heal, counter the worst kinds of magic. I want you to learn to heal, Adora. To abjure dark magics and restore what is broken."

Fear uncoiled in her chest. Shadow Weaver might suspect, but she didn't know - and she wanted Adora to heal. To defend. She could do that. She wanted to do that!

"So, understanding this, are you ready to begin?"

Adora wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to understand, but she'd learned a little more about herself. She had light magic - healing, cleansing, defensive magic. If she had to have magic, at least it was light?

"Yes, Shadow Weaver. I'm ready."

"We will start with the simplest, most rudimentary skill of a magician. Sensing and redirecting energy. Not shaping it. Changing it. Commanding it. Merely moving it in a new direction."

Shadow Weaver held up one hand and a long strip of red cloth appeared in her hands. "Around your eyes, Adora. Breathe - and concentrate."

Adora fought herself, but managed to reach for the blind fold without hesitation. She slowly forced herself to tie the cloth around her eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears and she felt the blood rushing to her head as she sat in darkness.

"Concentrate, Adora. Feel the energy in the air. In the walls. In the Black Garnet. In yourself."

Adora tried. She had gotten there a few times before, but it had always taken time. She needed to be faster, now. Without her eyes, the room felt even warmer. Heavier. The air. rich with metal and blood and smog, made her stomach turn. And the Black Garnet's hum felt louder, more sinister.

Almost like a glowing pink mist permeated the room, all around her. Smothering her. Drowning her.

"Everything in the world has magic. Is of magic. Every person, every object, has energy. Surely, you know this by now? This energy flowing through the world is ambient magic, Adora. People and objects collect it around themselves and it resonates with them. Once you see it, all other magics can be seen."

Adora started with the sword at her back this time. It had to have some ambient, resonant energy, right?

She felt Shadow Weaver moving around her as she focused. Searching for the inner eye that always felt closed to her.

"Even you, limited as you are, must sense something by now - how can you not, in this place? With such magics as burn in you, this task should be simplicity itself."

Adora felt something - she always did. Faint, gold light just out of view; like a taste or sound just beyond her senses. A faint hum, a wash of pink shadows and magenta mist painting everything, as if the Garnet obscured her magical vision somehow.

"Just…what I always sense, Shadow Weaver."

Her guardian sighed and Adora heard her robes rustle. Her body tensed. "Maybe, some assistance, then. Do you sense this, Adora?"

There was a flicker of - something. A blood-red flash of jagged lines and surreal sharp edges. Like a coiled storm held captive. It floated to the side of her, almost behind her.

"Lightning," Adora breathed.

"Good. Now…control the energy, Adora. Redirect it."

Adora had only managed this once, years ago. The second try had put her in the infirmary for two days. She reached as she had then, bracing for it -

"I think I'm ready."

Adora screamed as the crimson bolt coursed through her, knocking her onto her back. Her muscles twitched and spasmed and the air was burned from her lungs.

She had failed again. And she had only just begun.

The Royal Hall

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

One month after Catra's abduction

The second time Catra heard petitioners, she arrived with her mother. They sat down together, and Catra had a bottle of cold, clean, mineral-heavy water tucked into a cushion behind her. (She loved the Halfmoon water so much. So much better than the best she'd had in the Horde.) Her mother had an entire tea service set out in front of her as they waited.

The Royal Hall was even more breathtaking quiet and empty. Well, almost empty. Akrash and Cloudfoot were ambling in. Catra didn't mind taking a minute to appreciate the room. The moons were always hidden by smog in the Fright Zone, and Halfmoon was underground. It might be her only chance to really see them as more than luminous shadows behind foul clouds of smoke.

Lyra poured herself tea, and side-eyed her daughter. "I cannot believe you don't like tea."

Catra made a face. "It's hot leaf juice and tastes exactly like what it's made from - dried plants. It's better than that tisane stuff everyone else seems to love so much."

Lyra shook her head. "Tea, properly made, is a delightful, subtle beverage. We don't manage to grow many varieties in our greenhouses down here, but if we ever open trade with the surface again, I promise you, my heart, I will find at least one blend you like."

Catra, as much as she hated tea and loathed tisane (both dislikes discovered in the infirmary), knew her mother would be able to convince her to try all the teas. Somehow.

"Fine. But until then, water is good. And good for me, according to Lenio. See? I listen to my doctors."

Lyra poked her in the arm. "Except when they tell you to slow down. Climbing and jumping around every high place in the Castle, scaring our beleaguered Guard, and practicing with your staff in the main courtyards is hardly restful."

"Nope." Catra shrugged. "It is fun, though. And since no one took my offer to train the Guard seriously, I'm going to make them pay more attention to their surroundings my way."

A few days after Cloudfoot had shown her Halfmoon, Catra had realized: the Guard protected her mother. And she, Catra, the reject cadet, the epic failure of discipline and order, had been able to sneak around them, fight through them, and get all the way to Lyra. What would happen when the Horde finally sent a group like her old squad in? Trained from childhood to fight together, led by someone as skilled as Adora?

She knew her old squad wasn't the only command cadre, and she knew the kind of warriors the Horde named 'Champions.' The Horde had never let up on Halfmoon, but Catra also knew the soldiers ordered into Subtheria were the fodder and failures, sent to die in the tunnels.

She wondered how long it had been since her people had seen a real threat from the Horde. Not power plays and schemes, like the traitors or their attempt with Akrash - whatever it was. Not swarms of bots and the odd sorcerer backed up by Hordak's cast-offs. But a real threat, like Vultak or Grizzlor or a subtle sorcerer like Shokoti.

So she didn't mind spending her time harassing the Guard, now that she had her energy back. Or giving them a chance to see how she fought by watching her practice. They wouldn't listen, but that wouldn't stop Catra from trying to make sure they were ready when the Horde made a real play for her mother.

The jumping around was good practice. Good exercise. And let her explore the castle on her own.

Lyra sighed. "You really are concerned you fought your way through them. You don't think it's possible you are just that skilled?"

Catra frowned, shaking her head. "No. Because I'm not. Ad - we, my unit, regularly fought simulations against bots programmed to fight like Princesses and Knights. We also fought our trainers. Champions. Veterans. Sometimes, working in a pair or a trio, we could take one down. Most of the time, we lost. And I wasn't even the best. Ad - someone else was. Always just barely outfighting me. Even with magicat reflexes and agility, she was just as fast and stronger than I'll ever be."

Lyra looked down as she stirred sugar into her tea. "That bothers me on more than one level, my heart. I won't deny you are right. You soundly defeated our Guard with cadet-level training. But." She held up one finger. "You may not realize it, but you are an extraordinary fighter. Your training was thorough, complete, and I think, thoroughly and completely cruel. Your unit and those like them are rare enough the Horde cannot afford to spend them on a nation they have besieged. We have faced champions before and we have warriors who match them - they are in the field. My general, Askar, is one such. As was your father. You will meet them when they return, I promise. However, because you are not wrong, I will speak with Askar and others about further training for the Guard, and I will instruct them to speak with you." Lyra's face darkened. "They should not ignore you and that I will see to this afternoon."

Her mother took a sip of her tea. "Perfect. And just in time for the first petitioner."

Catra blinked, sinking back into the cushions. She sat even closer to her mother this time, close enough to easily lean on one another, with her staff propped up behind her. Apparently, she really could carry it everywhere. Akrash called it her 'security stick' and Catra ignored him, despite feeling much more secure knowing she could bash heads if she needed to.

She wasn't sure what to make of her mother most of the time, but moments like this were the most confusing. Her mother not only listened and took her comments seriously, even when she disagreed. Including the offhand comment about Catra being ignored. Which seemed to bother Lyra a lot more than the potential Horde threat on her life.

Cloudfoot had said she was a lot like her mother, and Catra - even though she had Guards of her own - didn't rely on them to protect her. Lyra had been a battlefield sorceress and had married a legendary fighter. She and this Askar had fought their way into and out of the Fright Zone to search for her.

Like me, she's sure she can take any and all comers. And I bet, like me, she can.

It didn't mean Catra worried any less.

She saw the Hall had slowly filled with people waiting to speak to the Queen and ask favors, judgment, or inform the Queen of something they wanted her to know.

Lyra patted her leg. "Someday, my heart, I hope you will tell me about her."

With anyone else, Catra might have played dumb. Asked 'who?' With Lyra, she shrugged. She wasn't ready to talk about Adora. Maybe not for a long while. "Yeah. Probably. If there's anyone I'd tell about her, it'd be you. I can't. Not yet."

Lyra's tail curled around Catra. "When you're ready, Catra, I am happy to hear."

The first petitioner stepped forward, dressed in what Catra had been told was good business attire. An older magicat, built like someone who did manual labor. He bowed awkwardly, obviously nervous about standing before his monarch. "Uh. Your majesty. I'm Tathlan. A baker. The City Watch, they told me to come tell you what I know."

Lyra set her tea down and leaned forward. 'Thank you for coming, Tathlan. If the Watch asked you to come, please, speak. I promise to hear you."

Catra realized - her mother meant it. And for some reason, that meant a lot to Catra. Like Lyra cared about all her people. Even the baker.

"Thank you, your majesty. Well, see, there are these people coming around the city lately. Political rally types, you know? Wearing purple armbands and talking about how we're trapped down here and don't have to be. And, my generation, we remember the surface. We also remember why we had to retreat down here. These folk, they make all these promises about freedom and prosperity and bright skies, but they say those things come from the Horde. I'm old enough I remember the coups, the traitors. I remember they wore purple."

Lyra, very slowly, sat up to her full height. "Tathlan, thank you. You were right to bring this to us. In a few minutes, Minister of State Cloudfoot is going to come meet with you and ask you a lot of questions. You are not in trouble. You have done us a great service, telling us this. I will also remind everyone of this: we are a free nation. Our people are allowed to express their opinion, even form a political group or protest based on what they believe. About the Horde. Or even agreeing with the political stances of those who used violence against us. We will silence no one, as long as they are peaceful."

Catra didn't like it. Wouldn't it be better to round those folk up and find out what they were up to? Except, that would just make them madder. Prove they were right. It wasn't fair, them wearing the colors of the people who wanted to kill her mother and supporting the Horde. Didn't they know what the Horde was? How stupid did they have to be to think the Horde would help them, living in a city under constant attack?

Unless they hoped they would come out on top and the people they didn't like would be crushed under Hordak's boot. Sadly for them, Hordak didn't work that way. He crushed everyone, and anyone who survived might get a scrap every now and again to keep them complacent and out of his hair.

Cloudfoot stepped out from behind the Council area, gesturing the baker over. "This way, good sir. Just a few questions, really, and you'll be back to work before you know it."

Within minutes, Cloudfoot had the baker away from the public eye, and Lyra raised her magic barrier, sinking back into the cushions. (Catra successfully avoided being startled by the magic for once.) She looked at Catra with fearful eyes. "Not again. Please, not again."

"Lyra?" Catra called her 'Momma' in private, but in public settings, she used her name. She wasn't ready for anything else.

"The traitors. I told you they were still here, in the city? This is their work. I'm sure of it. Something is building, and the baker may have given us a head start."

Catra sighed. Of course the traitors were going to try again. She had a sinking feeling about why. "It's because I'm here, isn't it? I'm your heir."

"Yes. I hate it, but yes." Lyra sipped her tea and turned to face her daughter. "Catra, before you came back, if I had to step down, the throne would go to another line. Your cousin, Aster - Kittrina's husband - was first in line until you, though he has no royal blood of his own, making the succession vague at best. Others with known royal blood, but further from the royal line, might have pressed claims, both legitimate and not. Your return from the Horde means direct succession is assured. There will be no power vacuum they can use as leverage. Magicats live for longer than other Etherians, it's true, and I am hardly old. My reign could last a long time, but without an heir, they had hope they could wait for."

Or they just have to kill you. Catra didn't say it. Her mother already knew it.

"Now I'm here and they have to be more proactive. What do we do about it?" Catra had more than a few ideas of her own. Go find some of the known traitors and get into a fight. Send their own people out to rally back. Hopefully start a fight.

Because as far as Catra could tell, it was going to end in a fight. They were going to go after her mother again. They liked assassinations and they were recruiting, which meant they wanted a fight.

Giving them one and winning before they got traction seemed like a pretty clear course to her.

"We wait." Lyra poured herself more tea. "We watch. We listen. When they act, we act. We can't start it. They have to. Otherwise, we give their position credence." The Queen smiled slowly, and Catra knew a predatory smile when she saw one. "My parents, my grandfather - they were not fighters. They were scholars and historians. Halfmoon is stronger than the last time they tried. And more prepared. Though, my heart, I think we will speak with the Guard about training before Askar returns."

Catra let out a small huff of laughter. Her mother was ready for them. Good. "I want to argue."

As if that's news. She'd been in Halfmoon a month and everyone knew Catra would argue when someone said something she thought was stupid. She was especially fond of arguing magic number theory - that her eighteenth birthday magically made her mature enough to fight for Halfmoon.

"But I'm not really sure how right now. So I'll go with your plan until I can think of something better than 'go hit them until they give up.'"

Lyra laughed. "Oh, daughter. Despite your dislike of tea, I know you're mine. Because I would very much like to do the same. I know it won't work, so I must wait to light them on fire."

About that time, Cloudfoot returned to the Hall and waved at the Queen. Lyra dropped her barrier, and the next petitioner stepped up.

Catra stiffened, her fur bristling. She really had to stop coming to these. She just couldn't handle all the great news and seeing her favorite people.

Princess Kittrina, dressed in flowing white, strode up and bowed smoothly. "Your majesty, I must ask a boon of you. As of yesterday eve, it is confirmed: I am with child. Thus, I cannot venture through the portal to Eternia until my child is old enough to do so safely. At least five years, if not more, I must remain in Halfmoon. I humbly beseech your majesty for permanent residence in your Castle as the wife of your majesty's late husband's cousin, and I present myself as a Princess of Halfmoon."

The Hall was silent as Catra just stared. She understood most of that, flowery language or not. Kittrina was pregnant. Catra was related to her husband, and thus the baby. She had to stay for a few years and told the Queen. But what portal? And the bit about being a Princess of Halfmoon?

The only portal she'd been told about had taken her from her bedroom as a child to the Fright Zone. She wasn't really a fan of the whole concept.

Lyra had a smile plastered on her face, but not a smile Catra recognized. It felt forced, even though it looked natural and even warm. "Please, Princess Kittrina, approach! Congratulations on your pregnancy, to both you and Aster. It is wonderful news!"

As Kittrina approached, Cloudfoot and Akrash came with her. As they walked up the dais, Lyra's privacy bubble snapped up, but Catra almost didn't notice. She didn't notice if she flinched or not.

Am I already being replaced? She stared down at her hands. Her prosthetic claws. Clothes similar to what she'd worn as Adora's second. She was from the Horde. Kittrina was from Eternia, whatever that was, but married to a sorcerer from Halfmoon.

That figured. As soon as she'd decided to be the Princess, a better candidate showed up.

Lyra looked up at Kittrina, her tail curling around Catra's waist. "Oh, do sit down. I admire your audacity, if not your timing. You know I can't refuse you the rank, but am I to understand you are asking for the position?"

Lyra seemed to be reserving judgment until she heard Kittrina out.

Kittrina made a show of sitting primly in front of Lyra, her hands folded in her lap.

Cloudfoot kept his face neutral as he stood at Lyra's right side, holding his staff of office, barely moving. Akrash stood behind Catra, but he somehow managed not to loom or threaten her, despite his irritating height. He tilted his head, talking out of the side of his mouth. Catra felt the cool whisper of Akrash's magic, but only her tail and ears twitched at it.

But his voice came through loud and clear.

"Say absolutely nothing until someone talks to you. She's pregnant, so you can't smack her around for being an uppity bitch this time."

Kittrina bowed her head. "Yes. I am."

Cloudfoot finally spoke up, no longer bothering to hide his disapproval. "As her majesty said, your timing is poor. Princess Catra is Queen Lyra's daughter."

Kittrina nodded. "Yes, she is. But I am of royal blood and married to the late king's family. I have a legitimate claim to the succession."

Lyra tilted her head to one side. "Where is your husband?"

"Aster is on Eternia. He is closing our house and gathering what he can to bring home. Your majesty, I mean no disrespect, to you or your daughter. But I would be remiss in my duty to Halfmoon - and the Old Clans - if I did not make the offer. I am trained. I am a skilled warrior. Aster is a sorcerer and better trained in statecraft than I am. My grandfather -"

"Your grandfather is one of my oldest friends and the General of my armies." Lyra interrupted. Her ears pinned back and she made no effort to hide her anger. "You meant no disrespect, but the offer could have been made in private. You know this as well as I. You did this to call my daughter's fitness into question. It was a clumsy political maneuver. Did you think I would really disinherit my own child for you, simply because you made it public? Have you met me, child?"

Kittrina, without looking at Catra shifted subtly to exclude her from the conversation.

"I have, your majesty. I know you put the good of the realm over your own whims and desires. I know you want Halfmoon strong. I know you want an ensured succession, so the traitors cannot usurp you. And the position of Princess is inherently political. Her recent change in status doesn't excuse her from politics."

Lyra laughed softly. "And you have given me that! Your child is related to my daughter by blood. Meaning, they will be next in line, Princess. You have ensured the succession for me. You have also revealed yourself to me - a schemer, and a poor one. You could not be my heir because you do not have even the small, quiet magics granted the magicats of this world. You cannot connect to the RuneStone, and thus, cannot rule. Catra can. Her magical gifts are already known to me. Instead, I can merely grant you the title and rank of Princess, putting you behind Catra in succession - equal to your husband - acknowledging you as a member of my family. A thing already done when you married Aster; this will be simple formal recognition. I take it you did this when he was gone, because he told you not to?"

Kittrina cleared her throat. "He did think it ill-advised, yes, your majesty. I am a warrior of the Old Clans. It is our way to take position, prestige, power through acts of audacity and bravery. I truly meant no disrespect. It seems Princess Catra has defeated me twice - once through skill and the other through talent."

Catra swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure as Kittrina faced Catra, waiting for Catra's answer.

Catra shrugged. "The first time, I meant to win. This time, I - " she looked down at her hands and then back up. "I just found out I have a home. I just found out I have a mother. I just found out I have a people - and I get the chance to help them. Protect them. Thanks for trying to take that away already. I appreciate it. If you wanted the job because it's the next step up the ladder, then I have to wonder if you thought about what being a Princess on Etheria means. Because I have. I know, better than most, what's coming for us. Those traitors stole me from my bed and lost me in the Fright Zone for Shadow Weaver to find."

For Adora to find.

"I know what the traitors do to children. You want to put a bigger target on yours. I know what the Horde does to the people it 'adopts.' I intend to make myself their problem, as soon as I can."

For Adora. Because until we beat them, they'll never let her go. Or anyone else.

Cloudfoot told her later she held Kittrina in place with the force her eyes alone.

"What's the point of trying to replace me? Beat me here, because I beat you and took your pretty stick? Try to take my mother away because I made you look bad? Take my title and do what with it?"

Kittrina flinched, but she held her ground. "My child will have a target on them, no matter what I do. As a Princess of Halfmoon, they will be surrounded by Guards. By sorcerers. Protected by the entire might of Halfmoon. Here or Eternia doesn't matter. Here it is the Horde. There, it is the Legion. Hordak or Skeletor, it doesn't matter. There are evil warlords on every world, and on either world, I will fight them because I do not bow to evil and I do not surrender to tyrants. I do not know the Horde as you do, Catra, but I will fight. I will be the first to the fight and the last to leave, no matter what world they hail from. I am trained in languages. In deportment. In diplomacy. I can do the job - but apparently, not as well as you."

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Catra is trained in leadership. Strategy and tactics. Logistics. Deportment can be learned, and language is a matter of practice. I would say she speaks well, wouldn't you? And Queens appoint diplomats and generals to do what we cannot. You show no understanding of how or when to do things, no sense of the effect of your actions. Catra is right; whatever your motives may be, it will appear you tried to usurp her for petty reasons. You would not have the trust of the people. Catra is slowly earning it. You will lose the trust you have because of this - something I will have to deal with."

"Oh, the motive she gave us is honest. Lying to me is almost as hard as knowing when I'm lying." Akrash pushed himself off the wall, sounding as smug as he ever had. His left hand glowed softly, all but hidden in his robe. "Not a truth spell, per se. A modification my teacher created to tell when someone is lying to her. Castaspella can be petty and likes catching people in lies. Like teacher, like student, I guess. Problem, Princess Kittrina. These audiences are broadcast live and recorded. You just announced to all of Halfmoon you're pregnant. Now, we have to figure out how to hide you for a bit, because I don't know if you heard, my parents' merry band of treasonous malcontents are back in the murder game, and you're now as big a target as her majesty."

Kittrina's eyes widened.

Lyra groaned. "Akrash, I hate that you're right."

"You cast on me? Silently? Aster said he put protections on me!" Kittrina looked a little panicked, but Catra couldn't blame her. Having magic used on you? Not a good thing - but she had just tried to get Catra discarded again, so she wasn't feeling quite as empathetic as she might have.

Akrash looked at Kittrina and shrugged. "Aster's protections aren't bad. A bit rudimentary, but not bad. They protect you well enough, but not from spells Aster doesn't know exist."

Catra worried more about other things Akrash said. "Yeah, he cast a spell. It's his job to figure out when someone's trying to screw us over and from where I'm sitting, you wanted to screw me over. These audiences are recorded and broadcast?"

Catra was trying very much not to panic. Magic. (Possibly) petty usurpation. And now she was on live vid? She was definitely going to have to stop coming to these audiences.

Lyra reached out and ran her fingers through Catra's hair. "No one told you?"

"No." Catra shook her head. "Not even a hint. That means everyone - everyone - heard me last time?"

"Yes. But no shame, daughter. You did good. You did right. The people saw the same thing I did. Compassion. Fairness. Respect. Today, they saw nothing but a Princess alongside her mother, doing her duty for her people. Being seen, perceived this way...it's part of being Princess."

Catra reached back and grabbed her water. She uncapped her metal bottle and took a long drink. "Yeah. Okay. I guess…just a surprise, okay? I'm fine. What's next?"

Cloudfoot sighed. "Next, Lyra announces her decision, reminds everyone Kittrina is from Eternia - which is, in fact, another entire world connected to this one through permanent magic portals. Why and how is mostly unknown, but we theorize the First Ones did it for some reason. Several of these portals are rooted in Subtheria, and one of them is right here in Halfmoon, connecting to the lands held by the Old Clans. When the moons are in one of several alignments, here in this very room, one of those portal opens between those worlds people may travel through. It is difficult. Small children do not make the transition well, and no one knows what it would do to someone carrying a child. Thus, Kittrina's need to remain until her kitten is four or five years old - at the youngest."

Catra shook her head. She would have to ponder this 'entire other world' thing later. That was a massive concept, and one she needed to sit under her bed and think about. After her panic over being broadcast to all of Halfmoon. (She also needed to talk to someone about that. The Horde was very good at signals. How did they protect against the Horde listening in?)

Lyra, ignoring everyone else, turned to fully face Catra. "My heart." She cupped Catra's cheek and Catra couldn't help it. She pressed into her mother's touch. "You will never be displaced from me. I will not allow it. You are my daughter. You will always be my child. Even if there had been a good reason to grant her position, it would change nothing for me - you would still be my daughter and I would still love you as much as I do right now."

Catra put her hand over her mother's and nodded. Cloudfoot glared at Kittrina and Akrash smirked.

When Lyra lowered her hand, Catra looked at Kittrina. "I'm still keeping the stick. I like it."

Kittrina, somehow managing to look both defiant and ashamed at the same time, shrugged. "Keep it. For now. You beat me fair, Princess. My husband and I both. One day, I might try to take it back."

Catra gave Kittrina her best unimpressed look. She'd taken the Princess half-dead, on the worst day of her life. "You're welcome to try anytime."

Lyra sighed. "You are definitely my child. Now, let's act like a happy family for the people and threaten each other at the holidays, like proper royals, shall we?"

Chapter Text

Catra's Rooms

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Catra still couldn't sleep.

Nothing new. She didn't want to sleep. Every time she woke up, she expected not to be alone. She expected her nose to be buried in blonde hair. To feel a warm weight against her.

Sometimes, she would wake and her claws would be tearing furrows into the deep plush carpet. Another reason for the staff never to see where she slept.

She tried to tire herself out. Learning about Halfmoon from Cloudfoot. Following her mother around during her duties - helping where she could. Practicing with the Guard or by herself. Exploring the castle. Her castle.

She was learning its secrets and its hidden places; stone by stone, hall by hall, shadow by shadow. If Halfmoon Castle was hers - her home - then no one would know it better than she did.

At the end of the day, as the magical lights faded to dim and into darkness; as the city quieted and as she crawled under her bed, sleep eluded her. She was alone and she wasn't home.

Not anymore.

Like most nights, Catra laid perfectly still in the dark, controlling her breathing, controlling her fear of her confusing future, trying to ignore how much she missed Adora, trying to ignore the cold. The stillness of the air in the underground kingdom. The absolute silence permeating the air, the walls, everything at night.

It was the silence that saved her.

She heard them as they climbed up the outside wall. She heard them as they carefully opened her window. She heard them as they dropped into her room, one by one. She couldn't see them, but she could hear them. She could smell them.

Four of them. She heard metal sliding from sheaths as they drew blades. The acrid tang of poison on the steel. She felt them move through the room, searching. For her. She felt them shake the bed as they tried to find a sleeping Princess.

Their movements were sure. Confident. Practiced.

There were people sneaking into her room. Presumably to kill her. Kidnapping was also a possibility.

I should have expected this. She was disappointed in herself. She'd spent weeks worried about the wrong things. Focused on the wrong things. She'd been more worried about her Coronation than she had been about her mother telling her there were traitors and spies in their own ranks.

If they're coming for me, they're coming for Momma.

She had no idea what to do about Coronations or galas or running a damned country. She knew exactly what to do with assassins. They wanted to kill her in her sleep, did they? They would bleed for that.

They were traitors to their people. They'd sold themselves to the Horde. Cowards who had killed her grandfathers. Her father. Had made a deal with the Horde that got her trapped in Shadow Weaver's clutches. Kidnapped her from her bed already once.

Coming for her was their mistake.

Catra closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Her claws slid out, heavy and unnaturally sharp. She forced her muscles to go limp. To disguise her breathing. They had paused, confused. Worried.

They couldn't find the princess they'd been sent to kill.

Shadow Weaver had been a demanding, horrific teacher, but she had drilled Catra and Adora in blind fighting over and over again. Just because the pitch black terrified Adora.

Catra didn't need to see them to defeat them.

She heard their whispers. A language she didn't know, but recognized. Her mother was already teaching her Aiilayra, the language of magicats. She looked forward to their lessons, but she also admitted, at least to herself, she looked forward to any time she got with her mother.

I won't let them kill my mother.

She heard them moving around the bed, two to each side. Searching. She smiled. She could hear the sudden lack of surety in their motions. Their sudden mutual awareness the new Princess wasn't playing by the rules and cowering in her bed. Their growing concern about where she might actually be.

Her closet door was open. Her bathroom door was open. There was no easy place for her to hide. She knew they looked under the bed; she saw their masked faces peering down.

But she knew they didn't see her. From the bottom of the bed frame to the floor were decorative metal panels, split with twisted metal braces between them. The hinges faced the inside. If you didn't know exactly where to look, the bottom of the bed looked like one piece - there was no apparent way for her to get under there, and it hid her silhouette perfectly.

Lyra had them installed to protect Catra's little nest. Give her a place to hide.

They didn't know where the Princess was, but the Princess knew exactly where they were.

Catra picked one at random, rolled onto her belly, pushed herself towards them, reached out her hands, slid her prosthetic claws right through the armor of their boots, and clenched her fingers tight. Before they could scream, Catra pulled with all her strength and leverage. As their shins ran into the heavy wood frame of her bed, Catra yanked up.

The feeling of their boots and their tendons tearing under her claws, their scream of pain and the sound of them hitting the wall and then ground with a heavy thud, muffled by the carpet, made her smile.

They should have sent more than four.

She'd felt fur under the boots. What self-respecting magicat wore boots to assassinate a magicat Princess?

Catra was almost as offended by that as she was by the assassination attempt.

Her hard-won staff in hand, Catra sprang out from under the bed, her hind claws tearing into the assassin she had just dropped.

As she used their chest as a pivot point, she heard them scream again. She felt her hind claws rip through some kind of metal armor. Thin, but flexible - tough. Most things wouldn't cut through it.

Shadow Weaver had made sure Catra's claws could.

The gold and copper staff spun through the air and caught another in the back of the head. Catra pivoted back the other direction, faster than her first strike, the other end of the staff slammed into their face with a resounding sound of metal on metal as she all but caved in their armored mask.

Then she dropped backwards, falling away from the knife flung from across the room. She heard it embed itself in the stone wall and silently acknowledged the high level of equipment these assassins had been given.

The other two didn't want to close with her. They wanted to pin her down and force her in a direction they wanted her to go. Smarter than she'd given them credit for.

But Catra had spent weeks pacing her room. She knew every inch of it. The Horde had made 'situational awareness' a survival skill, and her environment was just another weapon.

No matter how well they were trained, she already knew it wasn't nearly as thorough as the Horde.

She rolled back under the bed, sliding across her stolen silk sheets, skidding the distance faster than they could anticipate.

Her staff led the way, snapping out to the side, fast and hard - into someone's knee. Bone broke and folded under her blow. Her other hand dug into another ankle and pulled up and forward as she rolled out from under her bed. She came up fast, leading with the point of the staff, right into someone's gut.

Her claws lashed out in the other direction, and she felt them cut into a metal face mask. She gripped, feeling her claws cutting into flesh - and into someone's eye. She'd learned that feeling as a child when she'd taken Octavia's eye.

She yanked the mask off then slammed it right back into its previous owner's face, several times in rapid succession. As they staggered and fell, she swung her staff in a tight, low arc, catching them hard as they fell. She hoped for their head, but she wasn't sure. Regardless, she'd felt bone splinter and crack under the blow.

She rolled forward, away from the bed, hearing her last attacker lurching towards it, already injured. No longer confident. No longer sure.

As afraid of her as they had wanted her to be of them.

Catra turned, and her staff came up between their legs with bone-crushing force. They hit the ground, a screeching wheeze escaping as they hit the ground, gasping and retching. She reached forward, grabbed a handful of fur and drove her knee into their face. Then twice more for good measure.

Catra reached out with her staff and turned on the lights.

Catra's Rooms

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

The door to Catra's room opened and she waved down her guards as she dashed out, wearing armor they'd never seen before. Interlocking copper plates and heavy dark burgundy fabric was tightly buckled around her, but it hung loose, like it had been sized for someone else. Someone much bigger than the lithe princess.

It was the best she could do. All of the assassins were bigger than she was, but she wanted armor for this. She wasn't about to fight her way through the castle in her pajamas again. This time, she was defending her castle from the Horde.

And this time, she knew who they would be after.

Her batons hung at her waist and both ends of her now-infamous staff were bloody.

So were her hands.

She grabbed one of the guards by the shoulder. "Can you take care of them for me? I think they're all still alive? The one I stole the armor from is, anyway. I guess no one told them about my arrival. Anyway, I have to go keep them from killing my mother. Thanks. Sound the alarm, if you people even have something like that. Real loud or whatever. Get everyone. My mother is in danger. Kind of urgent."

Catra didn't have time for them to answer or to make sure they followed orders. She saw the guard look in her room at the four assassins, all bloody, tied with bedsheets, towels, and remnants of their own clothes.

By the time the Guard had figured out what had happened, Catra was running, recklessly racing down the hallway. She knew the way now - several of them. She didn't bother with the elevators - or the stairs. Those were too slow.

She didn't have any time.

Fear was clenching at her. They had tried to kill her - whatever. She should have seen that coming. She was a new wrinkle in whatever plans the traitors had. It's not like the guards in the castle were much of an impediment to trained assassins. After all, she was a cadet, and she'd fought her way through the Castle Guard like they were malfunctioning simulation bots. She'd tried to fix it, but not enough of them were willing to learn from her.

She didn't have a lot of hope the guards protecting her mother were actually capable of protecting Lyra.

That left her.

Catra found the window she was looking for, broke out the glass with her staff, and was outside scaling the wall before the glass finished settling. She heard commotion in the city behind her; she heard the cries and she saw faint orange flickers that might have been fire.

She heard screaming. The sound of weapons.

Her claws bit into the hard stone and she was scrambling up, faster and quieter than any elevator or stairs could take her. And she wasn't having to fight through whatever assassins, guards, or another annoying people who got between her and her mother.

About a second later, there was finally the shrill sound of alarm. The buzzsaw klaxon blared and echoed as magical lights ignited, bright and insistent. It took people long enough around here! She was going to have to start making the guards really miserable until they stopped being bad at their jobs.

Cloudfoot had soundly vetoed the idea Catra could pummel them until they got good enough to stop her. She was going to overrule him, assuming they all made it out of this alive.

Catra raced up the side of the castle, using her hind claws and one hand. The other held her staff - the best weapon she'd ever owned. She was up two floors and breaking through another window less than two minutes after leaving her room and the assassins.

She dashed down the hallway and saw - she was right.

There were more of them - a lot more of them - outside her mother's room. The hallway was crowded with masked assassins, and there was only one man standing in defense. A wall of magic glowed over her mother's door, a magic seal seared into the air in front of it like a warning - you shall not pass.

The corridor was brightly lit by the fury of magic.

Akrash, the only pure white magicat she'd yet seen, stood before her mother's door. Blood ran down his face and there was a knife stuck in his side, but his voice was strong and his hands were up, circles of pale blue-white light sparking into existence as he chanted, heedless of his own wounds.

There were dead guards to either side of him, their weapons still clutched in their hands. The bodies of assassins were piled around them.

With each spell, the assassins were pushed back, but much of the magic bounced off their armor.

Catra nodded. Of course they wore magic-resistant armor. Queen Lyra was a sorceress.

Akrash didn't seem to care about their protections; he didn't stop casting. His eyes were alight with power; his face was hard, set with focus and unbroken concentration. His hands moved in a continuous dance and his voice was a calm, melodious chant. Words of power hammered the air in a staggered staccato, echoes and reverberations of his power ringing out like the fading of chimes. Light flashed and flared; streaks of magic and arcane effects creating a deadly, beautiful spectral show none of the assassins could pass.

Catra remembered. Akrash had been trained in Mystacor and from what she saw, the stories were true. There were very good reasons the sorcerers of Mystacor were feared and revered, because Akrash was holding them all back, despite their protections.

The stone under their feet rippled and rolled, turning liquid in places. Spears of stone stabbed out from the walls, and there were sulfuric clouds in the air. Fire curled through the air and the very weapons in their hands turned on them, biting and snapping as metal animated into vengeful creatures.

Every step they took forward, he pushed them back two. Walls of force and lightning bolts cracked. Magic without pause; the arts of a fully trained sorcerer against the desperation of traitors and cowards.

Until he collapsed from exhaustion, they weren't going to get past him.

Catra didn't count the assassins. There were too many of them, but that hardly mattered. More came up the stairs with each passing second. How many did these damn traitors have in their ranks?

Catra closed the distance with a leap, bouncing from wall to wall, building momentum.

One of them sneered at Akrash from behind his mask, voice distorted by the metal. "You're going to die traitor, and so will the whore who took the throne. You - glugh!"

His threat was cut short as Catra rebounded off the wall and jumped over the group of assassins. Before her feet touched the floor, she slammed her the butt staff into his jaw with bone-snapping force. Her follow up blows started with his knees and ended with his forehead. He hit the ground, unconscious.

She really hated people with masks. It was probably something she should deal with, at some point. Maybe. If she felt like it.

She jabbed the butt of her staff into the mask of another one, caving it in. She dropped the longer weapon and her batons were in her hands. Better for close-in fighting.

Catra was going to get close. Real close.

She stood in the center of their group, and for about thirty seconds, Akrash could take a break. Her batons were a blur as she did what she was trained to do. Her elbows, her claws, her knees - every part of her was a weapon, and these bastards were trying to kill her mother.

Catra was a whirlwind of violence; ceaseless motion and ceaseless attacks. They had come far enough. They fell here. They failed here.

One by one, they fell. Broken bones. Shattered joints. Slashed and bleeding. She lost a baton when she stabbed it into one of their necks. Her claws rent through armor like it was paper, and she did what she and Adora had figured out - she curled her fingers and then yanked her hand up and back out.

There was a moment someone hit her across the back with something heavy, she thought she might be in trouble. Too many hits like that, she could be taken down. But as she turned to strike back, white and blue lightning ripped through the air around her, wrapping the remaining assassins in coronas of light.

They froze, trapped by lightning as Akrash incanted the spell - then they were hurling down the hallways, fur and clothes smoldering and smoking.

Akrash had taken the breathing room she'd given him to cast something a bit more effective.

Catra winced, sucked in breath. She felt herself freeze, fear gripping her. Panic had her chest until the light faded, and she almost fell over, breathing hard as memories of Shadow Weaver's blood-red lightning raced through her mind, echoes of that pain making her tense, as if expecting it.

Not now. I can't. Not now.

She shoved it aside. She couldn't fall apart. She couldn't!

"Anyone else got comments about my mother?" She jabbed one of them in the back of his head as he tried to stand up. "Didn't think so."

Catra kicked her staff back into her hand, put her remaining baton back on her belt.

She looked back at Akrash, but before she could speak, she heard them; the clank of metal and the whisper of boots on carpet. She spun and saw another group running up from the stairs, heading straight for her and Akrash.

One of them saw her and pointed.

Catra sighed. "Yes, I know. I know! I broke the rules. I didn't die like a good little princess when your friends came to kill me. Speaking of, Akrash - I need inside, now. And their boots have metal toe bits. Steel, not armor."

The sorcerer grinned - it was a hungry, feral grin. There was a hint of madness and rage in his blue eyes.

"Right then." He turned and snapped out his hand, a word of power whispering into the air like the warning wind before a thunder clap and her mother's door swung open. "Get her out! I don't know if there are any in there, but I'll hold here. I will not let it happen again."

There was something vicious in his voice. Something desperate. Catra knew what that could do to someone. She'd feel bad for the assassins if she didn't want them all dead. She didn't even really mind if it happened by magic - no matter how much magic terrified her.

Akrash grabbed her arm. "Catra. I mean it. Get your mother out. Any way you can. I can't cut loose until she's not in the line of fire. Yell. I'll hear. As soon as she's safe, I'll clear this wing."

Catra tapped his shoulder. "Copy. You'll hear me."

Old habits died hard. She was still a soldier. Age didn't matter. Rules didn't matter. Catra was a soldier. Her Queen - her mother! - was in danger. She had her mission.

As she dove into her mother's room, Akrash dropped to his knee, the palm of his hand slapping the ground. He uttered arcane syllables, his melodious voice droning and -

Catra heard the lightning and the screams as he used their boots as the conductor for his spell - not the air. The air sizzled and crackled and smoke filled the air.

Catra hit the ground in a roll, staff spinning as she dropped into a low sweep only to nearly be blinded by the harsh orange flare of fire. Heat washed over her as flame flared over her head.

An arc of flame swept across the room, and two more assassins were blasted into the wall of her mother's foyer, their chests and faces burnt, their armor melted. There were at least eight other bodies lying around the smoldering room. The walls were melted and scorched, pockmarked by magical rage.

And in the center of it, Queen Lyra stood. Clad in silk pajamas, but every inch the angry queen of an unbroken nation. Red-orange light flickered around her in a halo of heat, the air shimmering with the force of it, and her splayed claws wide, each hand holding a ball of fire. Her eyes blazed gold with magic and her power was like a razor-edged heartbeat; the pulse of fire hungry for fuel.

She was unharmed. The dead assassins littering her rooms were not.

Catra stared at her mother and her panic rushed back in; a tidal wave of terrible memories, lingering echoes of pain that never ended, gripped her as she waited for what was to come. The searing agony, the disappointment, the shame as she screamed -

Her mother was holding fire in her hands. Her mother was using magic. Real magic. Dangerous magic. Combat magic. Her knees felt rubbery, wobbly - and the world spun. The smell of charred wood and fabric and armor filled her nose.

Her mother had the same powers as Shadow Weaver. Her mother was the mistress of a RuneStone - the most awful and dangerous of all magical powers. But even Shadow Weaver hadn't gone as far into the magic of those mighty artifacts as the Queens and Princesses of Etheria had.

As her mother had.

In the space between heartbeats, Catra realized everything she had ever feared was present in front of her.

And it was her own mother, who she loved and adored and respected with every fiber of herself. Her mother, whose approval and love and acceptance Catra craved like she needed air to breathe.

No! Her world spun and she felt her vision go black for a single breath.

She missed the one behind her, and felt the blows against the back of her knee and her shoulder. She felt a pop in her shoulder but it hardly mattered. Catra took him out with a spinning blow from her elbow and knee to the crotch. Her fist slammed into his throat with as much force as she could muster.

She turned, trying to force herself to look at her mother - and -

Catra saw a shadow behind her mother. "Down!"

Lyra didn't hesitate; she dropped and Catra was jumping through the air. Her staff came down hard, but the assassin was faster than anyone she'd faced yet. They exchanged blows, rapid fire, metal rattling off metal. He wasn't as scared as Catra was. He wasn't as angry as Catra was.

Her staff crushed his collarbone, but his knife grazed her - and sparked off the armor she'd stolen.

Catra had him down in three savage, furious blows.

She heard the commotion in the hallway - there were more of them. She heard a roar she could feel was Akrash. She would deal with the visceral terror of seeing her mother wielding magic later.

She could fall apart later. She could face her utter and complete failure later.

After her mother was safe.

She turned to the wall, pointing and gasping. She couldn't face Lyra. She couldn't let her mother see the failure etched on her face.

She had a plan. She had to stick to the plan. Akrash was counting on her. Her mother was counting on her. "More in the hall. Probably a lot more. Akrash has it, but we have to be out of the blast zone. Blow the wall, make a hole for us, then turn off the light show. We'll go - wherever - my way."

Lyra saw the way Catra wouldn't look at her. She saw the way her daughter trembled. Catra was sucking in great gasps of air. Trying not to hug herself. Her tail thrashed and her ears were pinned back to her head. Her fur stood on end, but she didn't have time to feel - anything.

Not yet. Later.

"C'yara - Catra! Are you okay? Please..." She reached for her daughter, but her hands were still aflame. Catra hissed, pulling back.

Lyra's eyes were wide as she pulled her hands back to her chest.

Catra shook it off, blinking, feeling like she needed to brush the flames off. Like she needed to curl into a fetal ball in the corner. To hide from the magic.

To hide from another guardian who wielded magic. Another person she had failed. Another person who would be hurt because she wasn't good enough.

She mewled, piteous and angry and scared and -

She had been right. She didn't get the happy ending; she didn't deserve it. It was all - it was too good to be true. But she'd had a few weeks. That was more than she'd ever thought she'd have. More than she'd ever deserved.

Her mother had seen how weak she was now. How scared. How - pathetic. The Queen couldn't afford an heir, a daughter, scared of the Queen's powers. Kittrina could take her place, be the real Princess.

It was nice while it lasted.

But that was the last time she would fail. Not ever again. She was a solider. She had a job to do. A job that mattered more to her than she had words for.

Her mother would make it out of this unscathed. No matter what.

She turned away and jabbed her finger at the wall. "The wall, your majesty! We have to go! Akrash can't let loose if we don't get out of his way!"

I'm sorry, Momma. I'm so sorry.

Words she would never be able to say.

Expression stricken, Lyra turned and fire flew from her hands. The wall - melted, dissolving away, molten stone dripping down into puddles setting the carpet aflame. Acrid smoke stung their eyes, but it was over quickly. Catra looked out at the vista of the underground city before her, and up to the tall domed cavern they lived in. She saw the motes of magic lights flickering through the city, the faint glow from the stalagmites shimmering above them. She saw the distant fires.

She heard more fighting in the hall. More fighting below them. She felt magic rocking the castle in places.

This wasn't an assassination. This was a coup.

She limped to the edge of the opening in the wall. "Up or down?"

Lyra sucked in air, the fire fading from her hands. "Catra, I can't climb that…"

Catra shook her head with a growl. "I can. Grab my staff, climb on my back, and let's go. Up or down, your majesty?"

Lyra shook herself, clearly forcing herself to focus. To pull herself together as the sounds of fighting in the corridor got louder. At the sight of her daughter's stricken face.

"Down. All the way down. We have more reinforcements down there."

Catra nodded and handed the Queen her staff. "Hold onto that. I'll want it back. On me. I've got this."

Lyra winced, but used another flicker of magic. Catra hoped the Queen didn't see her flinch, but she knew it wasn't possible. She wasn't good at hiding it. The queen attached the staff to her back and then used magic to get herself wrapped around Catra, conjuring ropes to hold her in place.

Catra jumped out into the empty space, turning in midair, her hands reaching out, claws splayed.

She bellowed as she fell. "Light 'em up!"

And she was falling. She jammed all four sets of claws into the stone, letting herself slide further down, ignoring the pain in her knee and the jarring, hot ache in her shoulder as she did.

She didn't flinch. She didn't gasp. She didn't let herself show pain. She didn't acknowledge pain. She had already shown too much weakness.

Come too close to failing.

Thirty feet above them, the Queen's chambers lit up with magic and Akrash's voice rose and fell in a brand new cadence as he was able to finally, finally use the full extent of his powers. His arts made the very air shudder with soundless thunder as the choking, fearful cries of assassins echoed down.

Catra didn't bother to hide her flinch. Her fear. Her mother already knew - her daughter was a useless coward.

It didn't matter what happened next. She wouldn't let them get her - her mother. She wouldn't. Couldn't. No matter what, Lyra lived. Whatever else happened, Catra would make sure of it.

It didn't matter what Lyra did after they got through this - sent her away, forced her out of Halfmoon so she never had to look at her failure of a child again. What Catra felt…it didn't matter. She could walk away proud if she saved Lyra. She owned Lyra that and more.

For a few weeks, she had mattered to someone. It was all she would ever get and it would have to be enough.

Catra slid down the wall, pushing off and swinging back against it in a rapid-fire descent - a controlled fall that took them down the palace a lot faster than any assassin could have predicted. Or followed.

When energy bolts started firing at them and Catra started having to dodge, she got worried. The verdant beams grazed the wall around them, leaving furrows dug into the stone. Catra knew those bolts - Horde blasters smelled and sounded and looked just like that.

"My heart…I…I'm so sorry…"

Lyra whispered a word of power and a red-gold shield sprang up around them. Catra didn't react this time. She focused on getting the Queen to safety, letting the blaster bolts bounce off the shield. She was a soldier, and she had a mission.

The only mission that had ever mattered to her.

They landed just outside a pair of tall open doors at the front of the castle, and standing on the steps leading up to the castle was a single warrior. The largest single magicat Catra had ever seen - leonine and imposing, he was the kind of warrior Horde Cadets had been taught to fear.

Clad in copper and maroon armor, a long mane of silver-gold hair falling around his shoulders, and a gold eye patch over one eye, he held a long, heavy, curved sword in his hand, and he seemed to be everywhere at once. He flowed between assassins like they were in slow motion. He fought with the kind of perfect control Catra aspired to and with utter silence.

He fought alone, but every strike was another dead assassin. He fought alone, but none of them had passed him to enter the castle. He stood alone before the doors, and he was enough.

In a circle around him, the armored assassins were dead, but she could tell he was tiring. More assassins rushed up the stairs, charging the indomitable warrior. There were more of them than Catra had anticipated and he already had a host of small injuries.

Graceful and deadly, he met their charge with the ring of steel on steel and the rage of tooth and claw.

As they hit the ground and Lyra dispelled the ropes, she yelled out. "Askar!"

The leonine man looked up and grinned. His voice boomed. "Your majesty! Good evening! Do you mind warming things up a bit? These boys look chilly!"

He set to with a renewed vigor, as if Lyra's presence alone had bolstered him. His sword was a flashing blur as he flowed from strike to strike - and more of the traitors died, bleeding out in front of Halfmoon Castle.

They stood in a great plaza before the main doors to the castle, surrounded by pillars and plinths - the seal of Halfmoon was laid into stone under her feet, gleaming copper and stained with blood.

Catra turned to her Queen.

Bowed.

She grabbed her staff. No need to prolong things; there were more coming up the stairs. "Do as you must, your majesty. I'll be fine."

Lyra's eyes widened and she reached out for her daughter, but her fingertips glanced off Catra's stolen armor.

And then she was into the fray, steps light as she raced across stone.

Behind her, she felt it; the searing, endless heat. She heard the roar of Askar and the roar of the flames. Power hammering against the air as the Queen of Halfmoon defended her people with the magics she had been born to.

Who had she been fooling? She knew nothing of being a princess. Even less of being a daughter.

Who was she to think anything had changed? She was still Catra. Still the failure. Still the reject. She could still make these traitors pay for taking it all away from her, though. She could at least have that.

She jumped and twisted her way through the enemy, striking them down as they closed with her. Staff or claw - it didn't matter. If they engaged her, they fell. Finally, she saw what she wanted - a cluster of them standing off to the side on the stairs, clad in finery. One of them was bellowing orders and laughing like a maniac.

Behind him, the city burned. Behind him, there was war in the city streets.

He was in charge, and he knew it. He reveled in it. He meant to conquer through blood and fire, and thought he was winning. Thought he was going to win.

It was annoying. Catra fully intended to shut him up and slap the smile right off his smug, dumb face.

"Careful there, highness! Wait for me! That's their leader, the fool!" Askar's voice boomed across the battlefield, but Catra hardly cared. "He's dangerous!"

Askar probably wasn't wrong. But she was dangerous, too.

She knew how to fight. She knew how to kill, and this was the asshole who sent people to kill her mother? The traitor she could blame for everything good she had left - almost everything she had ever wanted - falling apart around her?

Pain meant nothing. Pain was easy. She'd endured pain and fought. She'd overcome fatigue and fought.

This time, Adora wasn't at her side, watching her back. There was no squad rushing in after the two of them. There was no playful banter. There was no scent of her in the wind, reminding Catra she had a reason to make it through the fight.

This time, Catra stood alone.

Failure meant everything, and she still had a chance to not fail at one last thing. She yelled back over her shoulder.

"Guard the Queen. They're mine."

She would be later told her voice was calm. She sounded relaxed, as if she were going for a stroll through the gardens and not about to face down the traitors that had killed her grandparents, her father, and tried to kill her mother.

She strode through the fight at the plaza like the magic her mother unleashed behind her didn't matter. That she walked out of the shadow of Halfmoon Castle, her staff held like a bannerman's spear, the blood of the traitor's fallen minions dripping onto the blue marble steps.

Her mother's fires burned behind her. The city was on fire in front of her.

She didn't bow. She didn't say a word. She just launched into a rapid fire attack routine, the gold staff spinning around her, whistling through the air.

The leader was apparent. He wore blood red and gold, carried a heavy sword, and sneered at her with the arrogance of a man who thought he had won. A purple scarf wrapped around his neck, and he wore a purple and gold cape.

Catra thought it would look amazing as curtains in her room after she ripped it off his dead body.

"Baron! She's coming this way! The Princess escaped!"

He pointed dramatically, and the traitors clustered around him turned their attention to her.

"Five hundred weight of gold to the one who brings me her ears! Go!"

His minions rushed her, but Catra was used to fighting more than one opponent. She was used to the odds never being in her favor, and none of these soft, noble traitors had ever fought someone like her. She had been forged into a weapon in the Fright Zone, under the thumb of a narcissistic sadist who hated her.

They wanted to give into the Horde? She would show them what the Horde created in their desolate metal halls.

She would be told later that she made a mockery of training from the best weapons masters of the city when she fought off the traitors. Each were nobles, trained in dueling from childhood, but Catra was a whirlwind between them, not just fending them off, but raining blows on them. Felling them - some unable to stand again. She lashed out with claws, and kicks, forcing them to react to her. Blood flew and splashed on her armor as she thinned the ranks, but Catra knew she was nearly overwhelmed. She knew they would get her eventually. There were too many of them.

She would make them all bleed for it.

She would get to him before they got her.

Step by step, Catra got closer and closer to the leader. She saw a crowd - a riot - behind him; she saw fires in the city, but she didn't dare look too closely. Halfmoon was burning. Her city was burning. Her people were being killed by this bastard's traitors. Her country was being invaded by the Horde - from within.

She was very much done with the Horde.

There were enough fighters around her, one mistake meant they would take her down before she got to him. She wasn't making any mistakes. Her body moved without thought; instinct and training and endless practice turning her into the frightfully elegant living weapon every Horde officer was supposed to be.

And all she could think of, as she realized she could get to him - she could take him down - but they would get her -

Was a pair of blue-gray eyes.

But they didn't get the chance. Indescribable words filled the air, and white-blue lightning struck down from an open window of the castle. Catra didn't have to look up to know Akrash was standing above her; she knew his voice now, the sound and feel and scent of his magic.

It made her flinch even more than her mother's did.

The lightning reached down, jagged lances of cold fire blasting traitors from their feet, crackling and snarling as it leapt from one to the other, an endless chain of destructive, painful magic.

Catra didn't hesitate. She came at the chief traitor, ignoring his taunts. His jibes.

"Look at you, princess. Flinching from your own man's spells! Afraid he'll remember who he was born to be and strike you down?"

The rangy, slender magicat who was (apparently) leading the coup drew his sword - wicked and curved, with serrated edges. Gleaming blood-red metal, hissing as it touched the air. His clothes were obviously fancy, and aside from soot on his pale gray striped face, he was immaculately groomed.

He wore a coronet of blood red metal stamped with black wings - the emblem of the Horde. Catra sneered at him. Of course he wore that openly. She'd seen it before, in the Black Garnet chamber. It was for champions of the Horde to fight sorcery - it protected them from magic. There was a small shard of the Black Garnet hidden in it.

Dumb face. Catra wasn't a sorceress.

Catra launched herself at him, jumping down the stairs with roar of her own. He brought up his sword to block. Sparks flew as her staff slammed into his sword, staggering him down two more steps.

As staff met sword, a metallic peal reverberated out - the shriek of magic-forged weapons forced to meet in battle. His eyes went wide as Catra twisted away from his attack, her blue and gold eyes cold and predatory as she forced him onto the defensive.

Standing between the castle and her people, Catra fought the last leader of the traitors who had nearly destroyed her family. Her people.

Catra whirled and spun, her staff constantly moving, each movement a savage blow aimed to maim or kill. The sound of metal against metal rang out and as a sword forged by blood sacrifice magic clashed against a staff wrought by the best mage smiths of ancient Eternia.

Each strike was a gong singing out as the wills of the wielders were tested against each other. It was an unending staccato - the heartbeat of an old war turned into a symphonic drumbeat as sword and staff clashed time and again, each impact coming with a flash of red and gold light.

As long as he dies and my mother lives, it doesn't matter what happens to me.

He was good. Maybe better than she was. Fresher and not injured. Not as scared as she was. He had less to lose than she did. He wasn't as desperate as she was, and he wasn't as fast as she was.

Catra almost laughed every time the stiffness and pain in her shoulder or knee threw her cadence off and the blood-red blade grazed along her stolen armor, deflecting it in a flash of sparks. It was their own fault for sending their assassins in with a good armor. It was terrible with blunt force trauma - Catra had been proving that all night. The Baron was proving when each of those swings left punishing bruises - and maybe cracked ribs.

She ducked under a slash she never would have been able to walk off and struck out in response, but he was slick and slid out of the way with his annoying laugh. Catra knew she was tiring. If she didn't win soon, she would get too slow and he would give her more than bruises. The worst part was he was landing blows on her, but she wasn't landing any on him. The magic of the fight was going to kill her - not surprising magic would be the death of her.

She needed an advantage. But Catra knew how to distract - and annoy - anyone.

"What's your name, anyway?" Catra sounded casual. Almost - offhand - as she batted his sword aside and slashed her claws at his face. "Don't think I've heard of you. Minor player in all this, huh? Sucks to be you. Me? I'm the Princess. That means I win."

"You dare!? I am Baron Bloodclaw of -"

Catra darted in as soon as he tried to stand taller, her elbow driving into his temple. Her staff broke his knee, his collarbone, his ribs, and arm before she finally knocked him out with a blow to the back of his head.

"I told you. 'Princess' means I win."

His unconscious body hit the stairs with a thud, his face slamming into stone. Catra stepped up on top of him to get a few extra inches of height.

She turned around and she looked. She hadn't realized it, but most of the castle staff were gathered, holding weapons of their own. The guards were finally mustered and fighting back (too slow, Catra knew), and there were - hundreds, if not thousands of magicats gathered at the foot of the stairs, staring up at her. Many carried weapons of their own and wore maroon and copper flags or ribbons or paint.

They drug prisoners and unconscious bodies clad in gold and purple with them.

Smoke rolled through Halfmoon's cavern, but the fires in the distance were fading and dying. The City Watch and emergency teams were already attacking the fires. Already seeing to the injured.

The coup was over; the traitors had failed. Halfmoon stood.

Those remaining few wearing the Baron's purple were quickly subdued, their unconscious and often bleeding bodies given to the guards. The remaining assassins tried to flee, only to run into the Guard - or were struck down by Lyra's fire or Akrash's lightning.

None of them dared run into the crowd. The sea of loyal magicats would have ripped them limb from limb before the City Watch could get to them. She stood at the top of the stairs, atop the unconscious leader of the coup, and saw magicats gathering.

Waiting.

She felt sick to her stomach when she realized they were her people. They were looking to her as a Princess. They saw her as a symbol of authority. A symbol of power - of victory, she had just won before their very eyes.

She swallowed hard. And tried to think about what Adora would do. She was much better at this sort of thing than Catra was. But Adora wouldn't be scared, either. Nothing made Adora afraid - except losing Catra.

That thought snapped her back to herself, and she was trying not to panic. To gasp. To let her failure crash into her and drive her to her knees.

Adora would give a speech, but Catra didn't have any words. So she relied on the oldest rule in her life: never let them see you weak.

Catra forced herself to stand tall, her tail lashing. Her ears back. She slammed the staff down hard, next to the Baron's head. To her shock, a flash of red and gold light flared from the top of it, and the runes burned bright red along its length.

She almost flinched. She almost dropped it.

She looked around at the gathered people and she met as many eyes as she could make herself. Then she nodded to them. Because who was she to speak to them? She had already failed as their princess. There was no need to pretend anymore. She had no idea where she would go next, but the assassins were defeated. Her mother was safe. That was all that mattered.

Then she felt a hand grab hers and she turned, seeing her mother. Feeling her mother thread her fingers through hers, tears spilling down her face. The queen, unashamed of her tears, pressed her face against her daughter's.

"My heart. Stay with me. Please. Please."

Catra - in front of the kingdom of Halfmoon - did her best not to whimper. She just nodded, once.

A whisper of magic. Another hidden flinch, as her mother cast a spell to be heard by the crowd.

Lyra raised their hands. "Princess Catra Dr'iluth. My daughter, long lost. Now returned to me. To us. She has survived the Horde! Now, she has defeated the same traitors who sold her to them all those years ago!"

Her voice was strong, but no one could doubt the emotion in her voice. The rawness she was showing her people - the love she had for her daughter. The pride she had in her daughter.

"Your Princess. My daughter and my heir!"

She looked out at the crowd and her eyes flashed with power. Her hand came up and wind whipped through the cavern, blowing the smoke away from the city; the remaining fires were snuffed as if they never were. Catra shivered at the casual use of powerful magics, realizing yet again, her mother was as powerful as Shadow Weaver. Maybe more. She was a Queen of Etheria, and while Shadow Weaver lied, she hadn't lied about the power her mother had.

"Bloodclaw has been struck down! The last scion of Dr'ardeth is broken! Defeated! Now and always, Halfmoon stands!"

There was a slowly growing cheer grew into a roar rising around them.

Chapter Text

The Entrance Hall

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Catra had no idea how long she stood there, her mother holding her hand above her head. She heard her mother speaking to the crowd, but she didn't hear the words. Her heart pounded in her ears and her vision swam.

Eventually, her mother lowered their arms. The Queen - her mother - turned to Catra and fiercely embraced her. Lyra threw her arms around Catra, holding her as if she might vanish.

"Please. Please, my heart. Please. Stay with me. Please. I won't be long - I promise. I swear to you. I love you. I am proud of you. You did good, so good. My heart, please."

Catra couldn't help herself. She didn't have a right to, not anymore. Not after - her fear. Her failure. She hugged her mother back, wondering - was this the last time? Was this, her mother, having her mother, going to become the same nightmarish memory as losing Adora?

Her mother's hand never left hers. Even as the crowd dispersed, Lyra never let go of her hand.

Cloudfoot came running up, his face streaked with soot. "Your majesty! Princess!"

Lyra turned to face her advisor, her hand gripping Catra's tightly. Her head swam, and she tried to focus, but she couldn't. Her mother spoke rapid fire to Cloudfoot, her growing understanding of Aiilayra not enough to keep up.

Princess. He had called her Princess.

What was she doing?

She wasn't a Princess! Princesses had magic, and even though her mother said she did, she didn't know if she believed it. Or if her having magic was a good idea? Did she even deserve it? Was she the right kind of person to have magic, or would that kind of power turn her into a monster - like Shadow Weaver or Mortella?

She knew her staff was forged by magic - that flare there at the end had to be it, not her, right? Akrash had examined the staff for her, and told her it could channel magic and was made by magic, but not much else.

It could channel magic. Had the magic come from Halfmoon? From the fight with the Baron? Leftover from Kittrina?

From her?

Her fur stood on end and she fought the urge to hyperventilate. Her fear of magic had already shamed her too much. Already cost her too much.

How could she have magic? How could Shadow Weaver have not known she had magic? Shadow Weaver had loved Adora because of Adora's magic. If Catra had magic too, what did that mean? She was simply so awful, so miserable, so useless that not even having magic of her own could redeem her?

She only just kept herself from gasping for air.

How would Lyra ever justify keeping her around? Want her to stay around? She was a failure of a princess. A failure of a daughter.

The tunnels. She knew some magicats lived and worked out in the tunnels. She could do that, right? Still do something for Halfmoon, but be away, where Lyra wouldn't have to claim her, see her? Be reminded her daughter was a failure?

The Horde rejected me. Why did I think I'd make it someplace like Halfmoon?

Guards came by and collected the Baron. Catra had no idea if he would live, especially after hitting the stairs as hard as he had. (That and she'd stood on him for while. She hadn't been careful about it.)

She stared up and realized she didn't miss the sky. She wasn't afraid of the stone ceiling of Subtheria looming overhead.

Catra had already forgotten what the sky looked like. If she had ever really known. In the Fright Zone, the sky was obscured, choked by oppressive smog and noxious smoke constantly billowing into the air.

Part of her wanted to see the moons. Just once.

The cavern was alight with the soft glow of magic; stalactites older than anything built on Etheria were lit with enduring spells, casting dappled light across the city - and nation - of Halfmoon.

Her people.

Her people, who had, only moments before, looked to her as a hero. Or a villain? For defeating the leader of the conspiracy that had killed her grandparents. Killed her father. Exiled her to the very Horde that had driven the magicats underground.

At least…at least I did that much for my family.

She wondered if she would feel different if she'd ever had any loyalty to the Horde. She wondered what she was actually supposed to feel right then, but she couldn't figure out what she was actually feeling.

She wasn't afraid of never seeing the sky again.

She was afraid of failing. Her mother. Her people. Adora. Adora, who would want her to be a part of Halfmoon. Belong with her people.

But she had failed.

She had failed her mother. She had failed her people. She had failed everyone - again. It didn't matter that she defeated the Baron. It didn't matter she had saved her mother's life.

She had still failed. She had flinched away from Lyra as soon as she had seen the magic in her mother's hands. She had destroyed everything with her fear, just as she always had. Just as surely as she had believed the magic would destroy her. She was a plague on her own life, ruining everything good she ever could have had.

Except Adora.

She had been taken from Adora. She hadn't chased Adora away. The last time she'd been with Adora, the blonde had pulled Catra to her. Had wanted to be held by her.

That would always be hers. Theirs.

Until Shadow Weaver ripped it out of Adora and burned away everything that was Adora and left behind something and someone else. Catra knew there was no stopping it now. No way to rescue her friend.

The Queen sent Cloudfoot and other advisors away, snapping orders and pointing. Even in her pajamas, she was regal. Obviously in charge, carrying herself with authority and dignity.

Catra knew she didn't have the same gravitas in her own pajamas; she'd lived that once already. Is that what a Princess - a Queen - had to be able to do? She couldn't manage 'dignity' on her best day, much less 'regal.'

Lyra reached up with her other hand. Slowly, gently, she cupped Catra's cheek in her palm and turned her daughter's face to hers.

"Are you hurt?"

Catra shrugged. "I've had worse. Shoulder's sore. Knee hurts. Nothing permanent. Are you all right, your majesty?"

Momma.

The word stuck in her throat. She wanted to, but she didn't deserve to say it. Not anymore. Maybe not ever again.

Lyra's smiled sadly, shaking her head. "I'm fine, my heart. You got to me in time. You and Akrash - you saved me. You got me out. You finished the fight they started. I am proud of you, Catra. So very proud. But I don't think you're proud of yourself, are you?"

Catra wanted to lie. Brush it off. Brag. Show everyone she was the strongest. The fiercest. Nothing affected her. If it had been anyone but Lyra, she would have. She just couldn't. Her mother deserved better from her.

She shook her head. "No. I failed you." A sob wormed its way up from deep in her chest, but she swallowed it down. "I'm…I'm…"

Those words were stuck, too. The apology that wouldn't come. She had never said 'I'm sorry' to anyone, and she wasn't sure she knew how. She had once sworn she would never apologize. Not for anything.

This was far beyond an apology anyway.

She let herself be weak. For a heartbeat, she pressed her cheek into her mother's hand before forcing herself to pull away. She wasn't allowed to be a soldier, but it was all she knew how to be.

She had done her duty. She had - at least - saved her mother. As a soldier. Not as a Princess. Or a sorceress.

She sucked in a breath and stood tall. "Where do you need me, your majesty?"

Her voice still quavered. She didn't like it, but she couldn't make it stop.

Lyra tugged on her hand. "With me, Catra. Always with me." The Queen led her away from the stairs where the Baron had fallen. Away from the crowds of people. The bodies. The Halfmoon Guard rounding up the remaining traitors.

She looked up at the sleek blue-gray marble of the castle; the gaping hole in the wall where her mother's rooms were. The pockmarks from blaster fire. The gouges from her claws.

Through the massive doors, into a hall even grander than the one she'd met her mother in, their footfalls muffled by thick carpet. Catra expected the castle to be a wreck. She'd managed to break two windows, a wall, and scar the side of the castle. But the castle looked like it always did; barely a sign of the battle.

Lyra waved away her approaching advisers and several Guards looking for her. She shook her head at them. Her mother pulled Catra aside, to a pair of blue stone benches set against the wall. She tugged Catra down, sitting facing her daughter.

"I'm going to cast a small spell. For privacy. I promise - you are safe. They cannot see in or hear a word."

Lyra murmured arcane words, and Catra's shame deepened as she flinched when the air popped and sizzled around them, a clear bubble appearing. She almost flinched when her mother reached out and took her other hand.

She didn't flinch when her mother pulled her closer. She choked back the sob, but Lyra didn't flinch from the sound or from Catra. She held her daughter's hands.

"Catra. My heart. I am so, so sorry. I had no idea…I didn't mean for that spell to come so close to you, when you came in. I didn't…"

One of her hands ran up Catra's arm, reassuring. Comforting.

Catra shook her head. "You didn't! It was my - ! Not…it's okay…it's not…I can't…I'm…"

Lyra ran her fingers through Catra's hair. "I don't know what you've been through, my heart. I don't know what they put you through. I know I scared you. I know - now - how much magic scares you. And I am sorry I reacted the way I did when you came into my room. I am a trained sorceress and I should know better."

There was pain and shame in Lyra's voice. Fear in her eyes, and all Catra wanted was to reassure her mother it wasn't her fault! It wasn't! This was Catra's problem. Catra's fault. She was the one broken and afraid!

Catra looked up, her mouth open, but her mother put a finger over her lips. "No. There is no shame in fearing magic. A primordial force of the world that can be used for such dark purposes. No. No shame, Catra. You are allowed to be afraid. It is not weakness to be afraid. I'm terrified, right now, that you will…" the Queen swallowed hard, forcing her own words out. "That you will be afraid of me forever, that you will turn away from me and I will never see you again - because I am what the Horde taught you to fear. A sorceress-queen with a RuneStone. That I will lose you - again."

Catra sat upright, pulling her hands from her mother's. She slowly scooted forward, and practically pushed herself into her mother's arms, this time pressing into her shoulder. Catra's arms went around Lyra as if to hold her in place, so she couldn't leave.

"No!" Catra tried, but the sob came out anyway. "No! They don't…they don't get to - they can't! They can't take you away again. I am afraid of magic. It hurts…magic is for punishments. For terrible things. Not for - whatever it is you and Akrash do it with it."

Lyra held Catra just as tightly. "We will not let them, then. We will find our way through this together, Catra. I promise you. We can. We will."

Catra stayed there for what felt like forever and not long enough before letting herself pull back. "I'm - magic is - I don't know how to - it was only good once and every other time it just hurts."

She curled her fingers instinctively, feeling the faint ache, the heaviness of the ancient metal in her fingers, and Lyra's eyes went wide. She gasped and grabbed Catra's hand in both of hers, staring at her daughter's fingers. She traced the thin, faded scar line along the first joint of each of her fingers.

"No…" Lyra whispered softly. "They didn't. They couldn't have…that's how you climbed the castle wall. That's how you dealt with the guard's armor. They - changed you. With magic."

Catra hissed, then let out a low yowling snarl, unable to hide the bitterness. "They did. One of the champions…she tried to hurt - someone. I stopped her. I clawed her eye out." Catra didn't pull her hand away, even though only Adora ever got to touch the scars. "They took me. And the other girl - the one Octavia wanted to hurt. Shadow Weaver gave me a choice - I let them declaw me or they would take Ad..her…fingers and eye instead. She was asleep, unconscious. She couldn't fight back. Couldn't choose. I was awake. They made sure to keep me awake."

Lyra's body jerked with a sob; she held Catra's hand to her chest, shaking her head. "While they…those…" Her voice turned into a growl. "When we are done with these traitors - when I have helped you through this, it will be time to turn out attention to the Horde once again."

Catra laughed softly. "I'm in favor." The sooner they started that fight, the better her chances were of making sure Adora got free. Even if Shadow Weaver had poisoned her against Catra, Adora could be free.

Lyra reached up and touched Catra's face gently. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Catra fought with every shred of her will to ignore the flickers of fire appearing along her mother's hands. The fire was warm but didn't burn her. She wanted to scream and pull away, but she had let her fear hurt her and her mother enough for one day.

She still flinched, but she didn't pull away.

She wondered if her mother realized she still had fire on her hands. How much control it took to keep that fire contained most of the time. What her mother might be feeling to make her lose control like that - to let the flames kindle like that.

Did she dare tell Lyra about it? About Adora? She didn't like remembering. She and Adora had never talked about it. They'd hinted at each other about it. Adora had sometimes massaged her hands, when the pain got bad.

She'd always been able to tell when Catra's hands and feet hurt from it.

Once, when a storm had raged and the lights were out and it was just the two of them under the blankets, Adora's fingers threaded through hers as Catra held Adora, anchoring her in the darkness, Adora had tried to apologize for not doing enough to help her.

It was one of the few times Catra remembered crying. Silently, in the dark, demanding Adora never think that. Never feel that again.

She looked up at her mother. "I…" Catra tried not to, but she remembered.

Shadow Weaver's voice whispering as she worked. As doctor Tempus smiled at her. As Vultak held the scalpel in his thin, spidery hands. Catra hadn't let herself scream, because she wouldn't endanger Adora. Wouldn't do anything to make them reconsider hurting Adora instead of her.

"Such a good little cur. I'm almost proud of you. You did well enough we're going to give you a little present, now that you've learned your lesson about what you shouldn't do with your claws."

Her voice was a whisper when she finally spoke. Barely audible. The sound of her pulse drowned out everything else.

"When they were done they told me I had done well. They gave me these instead." Catra held up her other hand, her claws out. "Some ancient alloy. Shadow Weaver used magic - the Black Garnet - to graft them to me. They hurt, sometimes, but not as often as they used to."

She wouldn't ever tell. She wouldn't. She would never speak out loud what Adora had done that night, waking up to find Catra in agony in their bed, her hands and feet bandaged. She hadn't told Adora all of it, just that Shadow Weaver had punished her for Octavia.

Adora had long since figured it out. But that night, Adora hadn't needed to know. She had just needed to care. Just needed to do the impossible. To put herself at risk and use the magic she'd never been able to touch before.

Adora had put her hands over Catra's. Her eyes had glowed blue; a bright, beautiful, mesmerizing blue - and gold light had flowed from Adora into Catra, healing her claws. Taking the pain away. Reducing the scars. The fever.

Adora had run her hands along Catra's body, burning out what Catra was sure was infection. Speeding months of healing into seconds. She healed her feet, and the bruises, and regrew her fur where it had been shaved.

Adora had collapsed, semi-conscious, almost falling on Catra, but Catra had caught her and held her and cried silently.

It was the only time Catra remembered Adora using the magic Shadow Weaver said she had.

Lyra nodded, but her ears were back, her eyes were wide in shock and horror. "This is Shadow Weaver. Who used to be Light Spinner of Mystacor?" Her voice was soft and distant. "Never mind. She never would have told you about that. Catra…"

The Queen refocused on her daughter. "I am so sorry, Catra. I don't have words…or anything I can do. The doctors said you had prosthetics, but I thought it was - something less than that. An injury or…"

Catra huffed. "It's the Horde. It's Shadow Weaver. It's always worse than you think and it's never as bad as they want it to be."

"The other girl…" Lyra trailed off, obviously wanting to ask more. Wanting to find out who her daughter had protected.

Catra nodded once, sharply. She wouldn't - couldn't - talk about it all yet. But she wouldn't hide Adora. She wouldn't pretend Adora didn't exist. Just not everything yet.

"Adora. Her name is Adora and she is - was…" another sob choked Catra off, but she shook her head and hugged herself. "I can't - but, Momma, she saved me. The surgery - it had almost killed me, she…"

Catra sniffled, her head bowed, curling in on herself. "I miss her. So much, Momma. I want her back. She was - she was everything. But…she's trapped there…"

She was angry at herself. At the Horde. At the traitors. At everything that had made her say that. Adora was hers. She didn't want to share her yet!

Lyra stroked her hair. "You're not ready to say more about her, are you?"

Catra shook her head. The only thought she still had, the one she had to keep secret. It's my fault. She's alone because Shadow Weaver hated me. Because I wouldn't do what I was supposed to…

And the guilt of having found her mother while Adora was still living in that hell - with no one to protect her. No one to watch her back.

Unless.

Unless. Somehow I can get strong enough. I can learn enough. I can go back for her. I can get her out. I just have to stop being a pathetic baby about everything!

Catra looked up at her mother, her eyes wide. "Teach me. Tell me. The truth about it. I'm not going to trust Shadow Weaver to have told me the truth about magic. About RuneStones. About you. You're a Queen. I'm a Princess and I know you're not evil."

Decision about how good I am is pending, let's be fair.

"I want to know the truth. And find out if I really can do magic."

Because if she could, then someday, she was going to use magic to break Shadow Weaver the way Shadow Weaver had tried to break her.

She would get Adora back.

Lyra nodded. "Very well. If you want to know. If you think it will help…and Catra, you have no idea how much I needed to hear you say that. That you don't think I'm evil - or mad."

Catra almost tackled her mother with a hug. "No! You're everything Shadow Weaver isn't! You're - " she sniffled again. Why couldn't she stop being so emotional? "You're…momma. I don't even know where that word comes from. I don't deserve to use it. I - shamed you, being afraid and a crybaby. Failing to beat it in battle. You could have been killed! I'm - your daughter and I'm scared of magic! I don't know how you can even look at me right now, much less care about what happened to me when I was nine!"

Lyra clutched Catra. "You were nine when they…"

Catra shrugged and nodded. What did that have to do with anything?

The Queen let out a slow breath. "My heart, I…you are safe here, Catra. You are loved. You are wanted. You are my child, and nothing will ever change that. Nothing. You did not shame me. At all. You fought, despite your fear. You beat them. You fought the Baron - a man we thought was dead, by the by- who is one of the most accomplished swordsmen in the ranks of the traitors. You and Akrash - you saved me. They failed, because of you. Be proud - I am proud of you. You did good, Catra. You did everything right. All of it." She held up a hand. "And I know you are going to argue, but I will not hear it. I am right in this, and I know you don't believe me yet, but someday, I hope you will. So I will not let you debate me."

She laughed softly. "And 'Momma' was your third word, you know. It's what you used to call me. You second word was 'Pops' and I still have no idea how he convinced you to say that."

Catra shook her head. "Thank you…but…" She sighed. She wasn't going to argue about this one. It felt important. "What was my first word?"

Lyra shrugged. "Oddly enough, your first word was 'door.' Not sure why. It just was."

Catra shrugged at that. She didn't know anything about kids or learning to talk. Most of the words she knew, Adora had taught her.

Her mother looked at her, and then reached out again. "My heart. So much I don't understand about how you survived there. I grew up…I grew up knowing. Knowing my fathers loved me. That I had a home. A people. I had your father. I had my teachers. Cloudfoot. Percival. So many. Wonderful people, even family. You…always had to fight to survive. You didn't have - any of what I had. It's going to take me time to learn how, to understand, to know how to be there for you. What to do to help. But I am, Catra. I am here and I will help. Any way I can."

"I had Adora." Catra wanted to catch the words even as she said them, but it was too late. Her mother smiled, and for the first time, Catra some tension uncoil in her mother.

"You have no idea how grateful I am to your Adora, my heart." Lyra's voice was soft. Sad. Yearning for something Catra wasn't sure she had a name for yet.

Catra looked down at her hands. Shrugged. "Yeah. Me too. She's - she's special. I don't know if I can - "

Lyra slid her palms under the backs of Catra's hands. "You can tell me as much or as little as you want or need, my heart. I will always listen. She matters - a great deal - to you. So she matters a great deal to me. And I am sorry - more sorry than I can say - she is not here with you. If I can ever fix that, I will."

Catra didn't really know how to answer that, so she didn't.

Lyra brought Catra's hands up, curling her fingers around them. "Catra, your Adora. She will always have a place in Halfmoon. No matter what happens. What choices she is forced to make. If ever she steps foot within our territory, she will be protected. Welcomed. Because she is yours. I cannot give you more than that now, but I can give you that."

Catra was motionless. Frozen - her mother's words reverberating in a mind empty of any other thought. Even though she wasn't a magicat, even though Adora was loyal to the Horde, might still fight for the Horde -

Lyra would let Adora in. Welcome her. Because Adora was important to Catra. It was the promise of a mother to a daughter; the promise of a queen to a princess.

It was the first hope Catra had for Adora since Shadow Weaver had discarded her. It wasn't much. It might not ever mean anything, but in that moment, it meant everything.

If she was ever going to make it happen, she needed to become the Princess her mother - and Halfmoon - needed her to be.

"Momma? I meant it. I - I need to know. About magic. The RuneStones. I can't - " she looked down, then back up again, her ears pinned back to her head. "I have to get Shadow Weaver out of my head. I can't - can't let her be all I know!"

"Then I will show you, Catra. If you think it will help, I will teach you - and show you - the truth of magic and the RuneStones."

She stood and held out her hand for her daughter. Catra took her hand, climbing to her feet. "It's the only thing that can help, I think. Knowing the truth."

"Then come. I will show you the truth. And your birthright."

Lyra waved her hand and dismissed the privacy spell.

"Now?" Catra looked around the castle, seeing the Halfmoon Guard escorting prisoners, seeing staff starting to clean up the mess outside, seeing a whole host of royal advisers waiting to speak to the Queen- including Minister Cloudfoot, the only one of her mother's advisers who treated her like a person instead of a Princess. She liked him.

"Now. Everything else can wait. Everything else will wait. You are more important to me. My people can handle themselves and everything else will still be waiting when we get back. Okay?"

Her hand came back up to Catra's face. Her amber eyes meeting her daughter's. "Please. Let me do this for you."

Catra knew she should say no. Push her mother towards taking care of her duties, taking care of their people. She couldn't get those hundreds of faces staring up at her, watching her out of her mind. Waiting for her to do something. Say something.

"You - our people. We have to be there for them, too. Don't we?"

Don't you? How could Catra compete with the needs of a kingdom?

And while she knew she should get her shoulder seen to, get cleaned up - change clothes, at least - she was scared to let the moment go. Scared of retreating back into her fear before she had a chance to confront it. Despite the salty, coppery smell of the blood on her, she could keep going. For awhile. This wasn't the longest or hardest night she'd had in training. She'd been hurt worse and done more.

"Catra." Lyra gave her a stern, level look. "This is part of my duties as Queen. To teach you these things. This is part of you being a Princess. This is important, too - and there really isn't anything they can't deal with on their own for a time. In truth, I shouldn't be needed for several hours - having to check with me for every small thing will just slow down what needs to happen. Besides, I'm the Queen and your mother. They can't argue with me, even when they know I'm doing this for you, because you need it. And we both know - now is better than later."

She was quickly realizing she didn't know how to say no to Lyra yet. She really didn't want to.

Catra swallowed. Nodded. "Okay."

Lyra pulled her daughter along, but before they had gone more than a few steps, Catra felt someone approach behind them - close behind them.

How had they gotten so close?

She acted on instinct, spinning, her hand tearing away from her mother's, her staff snapping back around her shoulder as she turned.

Her staff crashed into a heavy plate of metal covering General Askar's arm as he blocked her with a grunt, stopping the blow cold.

"Stars and stones, Kittrina didn't lie. You're fast. Damn good reflexes, your highness."

Catra pulled her staff back, breathing hard. "Catra. Not anyone's 'highness.'"

He dropped his arm, running fingers over the dent in his vambrace.

She finally got a good look at the warrior. Askar was the largest magicat she'd seen yet, standing taller than even Grizzlor had. Broad shouldered and heavily muscled, he carried his heavy plated armor like it was nothing. His massive sword was sheathed across his back. His broad face was marred by small scars and golden fur was streaked with gray. His uncovered eye was a sharp gray-green and one of his ears was missing the tip.

Even under his heavy armor, she could see the powerful slabs of muscle over massive bones; he stood tall and easily, without looking fatigued or worn at all.

He gave Catra a nod. The motion started out like a bow, but he quickly turned it into a nod.

"Askar. General of the Armies of Halfmoon and military adviser to her majesty, as I was to your grandparents and great-grandparents. I wasn't here for your dramatic arrival - I was fighting the Horde along our borders - but I wish I could have seen it. My granddaughter is still furious with you for taking her staff and managed to work it into every letter she sent."

At least I know what 'grandfather' means this time. Catra knew she should be polite. Courteous. Generous. She wasn't sure what to do with him sounded amused and impressed with her having fought her way through a good portion of the castle guards.

But her emotions were a spiky tangle, and she wasn't able to stop herself before she answered.

"Then she shouldn't have let me take it, general. She and her husband got beat by a tired reject. If she wanted to keep the pretty stick, she should have knocked me on my ass." She hefted the staff. "Still, it's useful for a pretty stick. I kinda like it."

Lyra frowned, and Catra flinched, but she didn't back down.

Askar laughed. It was a genuine laugh, deep from his belly. "I trained her better than to be disarmed and used as a battering ram. You earned it. She just inherited it. We're from the old clans, and what you earn, you keep. She knows that and there won't be any problems."

Catra huffed. "Until she tries to win it back?"

Askar grinned. "You know, I think I'm going to like you, princess. She might try, but not anytime soon."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he paused, looking at the tear-streaked faces of mother and daughter.

Lyra sighed. "Report fast, Askar. I'm taking Catra down to the Lost Temple. It's past time. I'll let you explain it to the rest of the Council. It's not my fault they dithered."

Catra was too tired not to roll her eyes. This was another of those things Lyra had already wanted to do, but the Royal Council had told her to wait on. She was going to have words with them about that. Very soon.

Askar threw his hands up with a sigh. "Some of 'em should know better by now, but taking your injured daughter down there in your pajamas? Your majesty, I'm smart enough not to ask, but don't try to play it off with me."

Lyra smiled at him and shrugged.

"Fine. Have it your way." Askar shrugged back. "Fun night to get back. Would have missed the party entirely if you hadn't sent your note about your daughter coming back from the dead - which, I figure these assholes planned. Me being gone is better for them than me being here."

That tracks. Catra had seen him fight. If she'd been planning a coup in Halfmoon, having Askar far away would be her choice, too.

"I had just got my troops settled in barracks and was going to catch a few hours sleep before I reported in bright and early. Didn't even get my armor off before the alarm went off. Woke my people and sent units into the castle to clear it. I came up from the barracks into the mess you saw. Saw the attackers. I attacked back. I sent the few I had with me to get reinforcements and I held the doors for a while before you showed up, majesty. My units have reported they let a lot of the Guard out of their various barracks, offices, etc - someone trapped them all. Between my units, the Guard, and your staff being the kind of bloodthirsty bastards I heartily admire, the troops they sent into the castle ended up mostly dead."

He smirked. "Of course, the princess here and your new sorcerer did almost as much damage as my soldiers."

Catra's ears went up. The Guard hadn't been slow - they'd been trapped. Someone had definitely planned this. And the casual way he said 'I held the doors for a while' sent a chill down her spine. She'd seen him fight - just who was her mother's general?

He nodded to Catra and crossed his arms over his chest with a clank of metal. "And Catra? I've heard from the guard they decided they didn't have to listen when you offered to train them in how the Horde fights. Once they're all recovered and this is cleaned up, you and I will talk about that, and they will be reporting to you for instruction."

Catra grunted. She wasn't even going to pretend. She was pissed. "Yeah. Okay. Good. After the fight, but I'll take it anyway."

Askar shrugged. "Make 'em pay for the disrespect in training. A few bruises never hurt anyone." He waved off the absurdity of that comment, reminding Catra painfully of Adora's attitude towards training, and continued.

"When my people got to your floor, majesty, they found your sorcerer with a knife in him, massive property damage, and a whole mess of dead traitors. The man in question had hobbled his way to a window, blown it out, and dropping lightning on the people trying to take over your kingdom. He's a hard man, highness. Had my boys literally hold him up so he could keep casting. I hope to all the hells you've already decided to keep him."

Lyra smiled and patted his arm. "Akrash of Mystacor is a Royal Sorcerer of Halfmoon, a loyal friend, and the reason I have my daughter back. He turned his back on his parents, Askar."

The general's ears went back. "Wait. Gideon? Kellam and Varlaine's boy?! He lived? Intel said they killed him before fleeing Halfmoon!"

Lyra nodded.

Askar's eyes were wide with shock. "Before those two traitors turned on us, he was such a sweet kid. Following after old Lenio asking for magic lessons!"

"No, my friend." Lyra looked more relaxed. "He lived. They left him for dead on the surface. Castaspella of Mystacor found and raised him. He came home, rescued my daughter, forswore their name and house, and has stood for me twice now."

Catra sighed. Akrash annoyed the hell out of her, but she was learning more about him all the time. "He saved my tail, general. Dropped lightning on that group pinning me down. And he got stabbed holding the assassins back at the Queen's bedroom door."

Askar nodded slowly. "He grew into a good man, then. Glad to see his heart beats for his people and not for his own ambitions. We owe Castaspella a debt, if she saved one of ours and let him come home."

Lyra looked at Catra. "What Askar isn't telling you is he's an old softy who had a plan to kidnap Akrash from his parents and keep him safe when Kellam and Varlaine fled Halfmoon."

The old general grumbled. "Kids got no part in war, Lyra. No part at all. He deserved better. All those kids raised by those cowards did. To know their people. Choose their own path. Not have dishonor and treason forced on them."

Catra blinked. She wasn't sure how she felt about most of the people she met in Halfmoon, but Askar - she already liked him more than she thought she would. Even if his comments about kids and war made her acutely aware of her own history.

She'd been raised a soldier.

Askar looked to her. "Your turn, Princess."

Catra blinked. "Huh? I'm not allowed to be a soldier, I thought? Do I still have to report?"

Askar looked confused and shook his head. "Oh, fuck me. Horde raised. You were one of their cadets, weren't you?"

Catra shrugged, her ears flicking back. "Yeah. So? I can't be a soldier here. There are 'rules' or something."

Askar sighed. "Yeah, there are. Should be rules there, too. What I said is true. Kids have no part in war, but you weren't given a choice about it. No blame. No shame. But yeah, soldier - report! You did a damn fine job tonight."

Catra's tail thrashed, hating that she felt more comfortable being ordered to report than just being asked what happened. Hated that she liked him acting like she was a soldier. Hated that she liked feeling like he respected that part of her, too.

But she also wanted to revel in the feeling of someone like Askar - a commanding officer - looking at her with pride. Respect. Telling her she'd done her job.

"I beat the four they sent for me. My room is a mess, by the way. They crawled in through my window. I stole their armor. Got my guards to sound the alarm. Scaled the castle to my mother's floor, then helped Akrash clear the hallway."

Lyra stared at Catra. "You - scaled the castle? You didn't take the stairs or bring your guards with you?"

"No." Catra shook her head. "Why bother? I could get to you faster without them, and they needed to sound the alarm. And they came after me, which meant they came after you. That's not allowed."

She crossed her arms over her chest, accidentally imitating the general.

Askar laughed again. "Oh, princess, I do like you. You took them personally, didn't you?"

Catra looked up at him, both gold and blue eyes unblinking. "They tried to kill my mother. Of course I took it personally. What about the city?"

Askar nodded, realizing it wasn't something Catra was willing to discuss. "They had their agitators in the city. Tried to start a riot. Had their troops in place to try to pacify the people. That - didn't work out so well." He shrugged. "The City Watch did a damn fine job clearing the streets, and your loyal citizens enthusiastically helped. Lots of prisoners to chat with, and most aren't magicats. Horde soldiers and Subtherian mercenaries, mostly. Near as we can tell the traitors have been bringing them into the city for about a month now. Rallying disaffected citizens to their cause to use as fodder. Most of the magicats were storming the castle. More fools, they."

"I knew those were Horde blasters shooting at us!" Catra tapped her staff on the ground. "Search everyone. Magically and physically. Break any rank badge you find - they're transmitters and beacons. No spells on them except to find out if they're magicked. Shadow Weaver and her apprentices aren't above using live people as traps or using magic to keep them from answering questions."

Askar reached out and grabbed a passing Guard. "You heard her. Go find Commander Destian. Tell him. Get it done."

The harried Guard nodded and jogged off.

"Good to know. Thank you, princess. Other notes. Princess Kittrina's rooms weren't breached. The additional security worked. Aster and his guard unit held the entire hall. He's in the infirmary for magical exhaustion, and the hallway will need a lot of repair work, but that glorious asshole left a pile of dead and saved my granddaughter."

Catra winced. She hadn't thought about Kittrina - but it's not like she knew the other Princess very well, and they weren't friends. She had been focused on her mother. And her own fear.

Next time, I'll have to remember. Kittrina's pregnant - and if the Horde got her, they get the kitten. Nope. Not happening.

She hated how grateful she was to both Akrash and now Aster. Since when was she glad to have sorcerers on her side?

Askar slapped his hands together. "That's about what I know. We'll be able to give you a more comprehensive briefing in about five or six hours. But! Your majesty, wherever it is you and the princess are going, I insist you take a unit with you."

Lyra grabbed Catra's hand again, as if afraid if she didn't her daughter might vanish. She leveled a flat stare at her general, her eyes narrow and tight. "No, General. There are some things that are not for others to know or to see. Or to hear. Am I clear?"

Askar nodded. "I hear you, your majesty. I think I'll send Enedral's unit. They're freshest, and are mostly scouts."

Catra almost laughed at the battle of wills.

Lyra raised a single eyebrow at him. "Do you think my daughter and I unable to protect ourselves, Askar?"

The leonine magicat shook his head. "Of course not, your majesty. But my duty is my duty, and I will not be swayed from it. We also don't know what surprises are still hidden. The Queen and the Princess? Unguarded? Cloudfoot would kill me dead with a look, and you know it."

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Askar…"

"Not going to give in, majesty. Can't do it. Cyrus himself could rise from the dead to tell me you can take care of yourself, but you know damn well he'd agree with me."

Lyra closed her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. "Fine. Fine! You, maybe. No one else. If Catra agrees. Anything you learn, anything you hear, anything you see - it is ours and not yours, do you understand me, old friend?"

Catra scowled. Emotional blackmail? Rude. But a part of her liked knowing at least one military leader in Halfmoon was determined to keep her mother alive and safe. Even if she didn't think they needed an escort.

Askar tilted his head, but nodded. "Your majesty, I would bite my own tongue off before I reveal anything of you or your daughter."

Lyra turned to Catra. "You get to decide. Not me. Not him."

Catra felt bile rising in her throat. Her mother obviously wanted to talk about Catra's reaction earlier, but -

To have that discussion in front of someone else? To show weakness? Reveal emotion? In front of someone she didn't know?

She didn't know if she could do it.

But she knew his name. He was the one who had gone into the Fright Zone with her mother to search for her. That counted for a lot.

"I…" She braced herself. "I don't know. I won't…I won't shame him, too. He might have to - be somewhere else, for us to talk, but he can guard us until then. Does that work?"

Askar did bow to her this time, and answered with genuine sincerity. "Thank you, Princess Catra. That you are willing to give that much for the sake of my duty honors me."

Uncomfortable, Catra nodded to him - and let her mother lead her back into the castle.

Chapter Text

The Temple of the Ancients

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Catra followed Lyra through the castle; she had one hand on Catra and the other on her comm, typing away. Askar followed them both, somehow managing an expression that was amused, aggrieved, and entirely too smug for any one person. Catra was fairly sure there was a limit to the number of emotions one expression should convey, and Askar was over it.

He also had opinions. Catra had not asked for his opinions.

"You know, we can stop to change. You don't have to keep wearing armor you stole from the enemy."

Lyra looked up from her comm. "We will be stopping for a few minutes a few levels down. I've just arranged it. We all need food and drink and I am sure some of my advisers are going to insist on speaking with me now that I have let them know where I am and what I'm doing. Despite telling them, specifically, not to. I can have clothes for you there, if you want?"

"Why bother?" Catra shrugged and glanced back at Askar. "I kinda like my armor. It's a bit big, but it's magic resistant and protected me from some nasty blows. Best outfit ever."

Better than a gown. Maybe I'll wear it to my Coronation.

Wearing magic resistant armor to visit a RuneStone had a lot of appeal right then. A lot. And it had loops for her staff! (Which she hadn't noticed until after the fight.)

Askar grumbled. "I can't blame you for liking a good set of armor, Princess. I do wish it wasn't the uniform of our enemy. Or such a close match to armor worn by some of our elite units - it can pass at a glance. Or that those overlapping scales weren't annoyingly good design. Or wish it didn't use indorium. It irritates me."

Catra almost laughed at his indignation, but stopped herself. "I can't fix any of that. Even by changing. What's indorium, other than a metal?"

"Indorium is an alloy magicats developed a long, long time ago. Magic infused copper and steel. That's our alloy and the damn traitors are using it against us."

Catra flicked an ear. As much as she tried to invest herself in magicat culture, it had only been a few weeks and she wasn't quite able to work up righteous indignation over a metal or armor design.

Her new armor was good protection, looked good, and she had claimed it.

(She also wasn't about to tell Askar that a rebelling force using slightly altered symbols of the existing power structure was pretty standard. Either he already knew, or someone else would have to explain it to him. The Horde had been very thorough in educating its cadets on insurrections, uprisings, and overthrowing monarchs. She wasn't ready for him to know she had training in it - not the night of a foiled coup.)

And sometimes, other people's rules and hangups didn't interest her much. Her new armor was good protection, looked good, and she had claimed it.

But she was trying to be a good princess. Be more tactful. Cloudfoot was teaching her, and while she wasn't particularly good at 'tact' yet, she loved one of his methods: propose an absurd alternative you actually wanted and found out how important what they wanted was to them.

"If it bothers you so much, make me something like it and I'll think about not using it. But I'm not giving it back. They tried to kill me. I took it from them. It's mine now."

Lyra's obvious struggle not to giggle at how easily Catra riled Askar up ended when he grumbled under his breath about 'her father's daughter.' The old warrior wasn't one to bandy words, but Catra forced him to.

After the giggle escaped. Lyra tugged Catra closer to her. "My heart, I will have a similar set of armor made to use if it will ease Askar's troubled mind. I will even use bits and pieces from the armor of the assassins you defeated tonight, and you may keep your armor as a prize. I get the feeling you like to keep what you win. Your father was the same!"

Catra felt a warm flush at being like her father. She had heard a lot about him; he had been a doting father, a loving husband, a grumpy soldier, and a skilled warrior. He had been impatient, sarcastic, often tactless, and utterly devoted to Lyra and his people.

"That's different." Akrash brightened. "Princess, if that's why you want to keep the armor, then I'll have it resized by my own armorer. A warrior's trophies are sacred."

Catra winced. Getting called out on her most embarrassing habit by her mother - even more awkward than casual conversations with guards she'd taken down during her arrival to Halfmoon.

She had a terrible habit of collecting small trophies; Shadow Weaver had made her stop and give many back, forcing her to get better at hiding her ill-gotten treasures. (She still remembered Adora had kept several important trophies hidden around their bed during Shadow Weaver's purge. When Adora had shown her, she'd only been able to nuzzle into her and purr; she hadn't the words, and it showed how much Adora cared. Understood her.)

Catra slowed and looked over her shoulder. That was exactly why she was keeping the armor. (And the magic resistance.) "They came at me and tried to kill me and I won. Why shouldn't I use their stuff? I…umm…I like the idea of custom armor, too. Made from their armor. Made for me, from what I won."

Having something made for her, in Halfmoon's style, using her trophies? It felt like acceptance - and it felt like turning her fight against Halfmoon's enemies into a way to make her more a part of her own people.

"Hah! I'll see it done." Askar clapped his hands together. "It will be a masterpiece, worthy of your prize and your victory!"

Catra flicked her ears and her tail whipped side to side. "Thank you."

She still felt embarrassed at wanting to take trophies. Adora had told her it wasn't bad, and even helped her hide them, but it wasn't something anyone else had done. Did all magicats take trophies?

The halls were dimly lit and silent, even after the attack. The cool air helped Catra walk off some of the adrenaline; her nerves were still buzzing and singing. Her knee was a hot ache (but she really had walked on worse - more than once) and her shoulder throbbed with a deep bruise. She was feeling the aftermath of the fight, and knew if she crawled back under her bed, she would wake up sore and miserable.

She needed the cool down. She needed to face her fear. She needed to find out the truth - because there was no way Shadow Weaver told her the truth.

"I'll admit," Lyra shook her head. "I don't get the trophy thing. Cyrus loved them, too." She smiled fondly. "He had a story for each one, and many were weapons or armor he wore into battle."

Catra bounced on her toes, realizing her mother didn't understand - but didn't disapprove. And her father had taken trophies, too! The General approved. It was a heady feeling. And she could explain it - she had explained it to Adora before!

"I can answer that! For once, I can answer something! It's not about greed. Or gloating." She tapped the armor plate on her forearm. "It's a reminder. A hard fight gets commemorated. A tangible piece of the fight. I wear the armor and remember I won. How I won. Why I won. How and why I fought. I fought Kittrina and Aster, right? He's a sorcerer and she's a Princess, and I'm only just starting to understand what that means. They could have tried to talk to me. Used their skills to avoid a fight. Used magic to contain me. Instead, they came at me hard, trying to take me out. They set a trap, figuring me for easy prey. But take me down and do what, exactly? No one has ever answered that question. Hmph. They weren't guards with one job - protect their position. Keep intruders out of the castle. I took their batons, because I fought hard and I won and to remind me I chose - "

She took a deep breath. This was harder than she expected, but it felt important. And her mother listened with rapt attention.

"You chose batons, not knives." Lyra gripped her hand tighter. "For which I am both proud and grateful. You chose weapons to defend, my heart. You chose not to kill. You made a conscious decision - the right decision. You fought your way through the castle, and no one died. Aster may have a limp - but you're right. He and Kittrina had other options. You saw your options. They didn't. What else does the staff remind you of?"

"A lot." Catra stared ahead at the hallway - they were in a part of the castle she didn't know by heart yet - the sorcery wing. She didn't like it; it made her skin crawl. There were more gold accents, and faintly shimmering gold and copper runes inscribed into the walls.

Magic buzzed in the air, a subtle crackle of arcane static.

She reached up and touched the staff hanging over her shoulder. "I learned I am capable of fighting and defeating a Princess. My training, my work, my skills matter, even here. That I am not easily taken by surprise. That not everything is what it seems. That Princesses aren't automatically my enemy. To think before I fight. Kittrina and I didn't know why were fighting. We both thought we had to fight and hells' bells, is that stupid. That when I had the choice to trust my instincts, my…"

"Your heart," Lyra smiled at her daughter. "Catra, you trusted your heart and you let the staff fall. You let me catch you. I take it you feel like you can't remember those things without trophies?"

Catra could hear the confusion in her mother's voice. No judgment. Only curiosity. But she was still afraid of being judged, especially by Lyra.

Tonight had proven her mother's opinion meant more to her than she'd understood.

"I can't speak to how it works with sorcery and magic duels, your majesty." Askar sounded uncomfortable, like he was revealing something he wasn't sure he should. "Sorcery is a mental discipline, even a spiritual discipline - I won't deny that. But for a warrior, trained to react with violence, use violence as a tool, a way to interact with the world - we are always in the moment. Sometimes, the heat of the moment, when we don't have time to think. Only react. Reacting with instinct. With training. With what we have inculcated ourselves with, what we've hammered into muscle and bone and blood."

Askar's voice rumbled, carrying through the empty hall. "You can't count on not standing alone. You can't count on your space, what's around you, what's happening to make sense. But what's pressed into your fur. What's held in your hands. Hanging from your body. The symbol in your claws when you swing to lay someone low can ground you, remind you. Have meaning and that meaning, that reminder can change your next move. And the next. When you train, surrounded by things that remind you, using things that remind you, you are helping train the heart along with the head. You are exercising your soul, not just your muscles."

Lyra tugged Catra aside, guiding them all into a small room - some kind of prep room, with racks full of sorcerer's robes and the tools of sorcery - phials of potions and incense, chalk and bowls. It smelled sharply of herbs and gently of oils; the air spiced and heady. Magic hung in the air, making Catra's fur stand up. There were several changing cubicles, and tables for preparation - and a low, round table in the center of the room where servants were laying out food and drink. Catra knew she needed to drink after the fight, but her stomach felt too heavy for food.

"Eat something, if you can. Drink before we go much further. I plan to change, and I would - Catra, I would very much like to clean your armor with magic, get the blood off. The spell will also clean you, but I will not cast it, or ask again if you say no. Please think about it! I'll be right back, my heart. Cloudfoot is bringing me clothes and is anxious to tell me everything I don't need to know yet."

Lyra swept out of the room.

Askar picked up a bottle of chilled tisane and instead of pouring himself a glass, drank straight from the bottle. A servant huffed behind him, but the general's only acknowledgment was a dismissive flick of his tail.

Catra tensed. She trusted her mother - she wanted to feel safe and let her mother do it, but - more magic.

Why was everything magic?

Askar set his bottle down and grabbed a pastry smelling of spicy meat and sauce. He paused, food part way to his mouth. He tilted head, staring at her, and Catra looked up, meeting his eyes.

He set the food down. "Do you consider yourself a warrior, Catra?"

"I'm a soldier." Catra turned slightly, not sure why she suddenly felt defensive.

Askar shook his head. "You were raised a soldier. You chose to be a warrior. I know the difference when I see it. A soldier follows orders. A soldier does their duty to their people. A warrior decides when and where and how to fight and holds themselves to a personal code. You're a warrior. A soldier - even a Princess - wouldn't hesitate when their Queen says 'I will do this for you.' A warrior thinks about it. But a warrior is ruled by their will. Not by their fear."

Catra hissed, her ears flat against her head. "You think I want to be some scared baby who flinches at magic?"

Askar smiled slowly. "No. I think you'd much rather punch magic in the face and tell it to leave you the fuck alone and stop mucking around in your life. I also think you probably have good reasons - really good reasons to be afraid of magic. You walked right up to a stone killer tonight, after fighting his pet assassins, mocked him to his face and then put him face first into the ground. Fear isn't something you do for bad reasons. I also don't think you let anything control you if you can fight it. I think you should fight this. I think you should stand there and tremble like a leaf and cry and claw the walls if you have to, but I think you should let you mother cast that spell."

"I'm not weak!" Catra slammed her staff on the ground, red-gold light flickering along it. She didn't remember grabbing it off her back? (And could it stop with the light show?)

"You're not weak," Askar agreed with a nod. "And trembling and crying and clawing the wall aren't signs of weakness. I wept tonight. When I stood in front of those doors and I saw those bastards there to take my home and my people from me, knowing my granddaughter was behind me? I wept. From fear. From hopeless rage. I wept with joy when saw the people of Halfmoon fighting back. I laughed and shed more tears when you and your mother came to stand with me. Emotion is not shame or weakness. Hiding from our emotions, denying them - that can make you weak. Confuse you. Create bad thinking. What shames us is always deeply personal, but I think you already know that. I don't want you choosing shame when you don't have to."

Catra slumped, her anger draining from her. Before she could say anything (not that she knew what to say), her mother strode back in looking irritated. Still in her pajamas.

(Shimmering coppery silk pants and a tank top were hardly royal attire, and part of Catra wondered if the material was as soft as it looked.)

"It was not Cloudfoot, it was Percival. I love that old man dearly, but court attire is even less suited to our purposes than what I have on. But I was right about being told all the things I didn't need to know yet."

The Queen picked up thermos of tea and opened it. She breathed in deeply and took a sip. "Tea helps. Tea always helps."

Catra shuffled her feet. "If you need to - I can do this later."

Lyra set her tea down and walked over to Catra. She pulled her daughter closer and pressed her forehead to Catra's.

"My heart. We can do this later. We should have done it well before now. We are doing it tonight, because tonight is when you need to do it. You are important to me. I take nothing away from our people by taking you to the Spirit Ember now. I hurt no one. My Council, the people working even now to clean Halfmoon, heal our people, and rebuild our city - they do not need a Queen sitting and waiting for updates. They do not need a fretting Princess, unsure of her place. They need a wise Queen and a steady Princess, who are doing their duty to Halfmoon by seeing to the sacred trust and power entrusted to them. This is as much our job as anything else. Every ruler on Etheria responsible for a RuneStone carries the responsibility for it. Using it correctly. Protecting it. Using it to protect our people, as I could have tonight, if its power had become necessary."

Catra felt a slight chill run down her spine. Everything she had done, and her mother hadn't used the RuneStone? (Also reinforcing her need to talk with the Royal Council.)

Catra nodded. "Okay. Then we do this. If we're really not - hurting anything. If this really is what we should be doing."

"It is, my heart. It is." Lyra stepped back, reaching for her tea again.

Askar had perched on one of the prep tables and ate his way through a handful of the pastries with the kind of appetite Catra usually saw from Adora - and only Adora. He gave her a pointed look. Catra braced herself.

"Momma. I want you to cast the spell. I don't know if it will work - the armor is resistant, but I don't want to let my fear have control." Her voice was soft, hesitant, and she felt like it was a lie. Catra didn't want Lyra to use magic on her, but she wanted to show her mother she trusted her, and she wanted to beat her fear.

"I am casting on the dirt and grime and blood. Not the armor. I am - thank you, my heart. I am touched. And I will always ask before - I give you my word."

Catra nodded; already tense and stiff, she felt like her tail was twice its normal size when Lyra raised her hands. The air shimmered and a circle of fire appeared between her hands; runes of fire carved themselves into the air, and at Lyra's whispered words, Catra felt her heart race and thunder in her ears.

A swirl of copper light curled around her, trailing sparks and flame, brushing warmth over her fur and skin and twining around her, taking the blood and grime and sweat with it. Catra's breath came in shallow gasps.

The light faded and Catra staggered, only for Lyra to reach and grab her, holding her steady.

Wordlessly, mother and daughter held each other, and Catra breathed out a long slow breath. She had done it. She had done it!

She pulled back and looked down at herself - both her and her stolen armor were clean!

Catra worked her dry mouth. "You magic; it's all fire. Is that the…"

"The RuneStone? Yes and no. I have always had a strong affinity for fire, but the RuneStone - enhances and amplifies my affinity. Every spell I cast, unless I choose otherwise, will have elements of fire in it."

Catra tried to swallow, and nodded.

"I'm proud of you, yet again." Lyra brushed her hands over Catra's face. "Eat. Drink. And tell me! Is there anything from tonight - other than your armor - you feel like you need?"

Catra stared down at her hands as she faced the table, a faint sense of shame welling up. She started to shake her head, but Askar cleared his throat.

Lyra stepped in front of her, her tail curling around Catra's arm. "No, my heart. I say that not to shame, but because - my not understanding doesn't mean I don't respect it. If it's important, then - I will help you make it possible."

She sighed, grabbing a cold bottle of Catra's favorite fruit juice and pressing it into her hand. "Oh, I miss Cyrus. More than I have in years! He would understand this - know how to help you through it."

Askar stood from his table, unfolding his bulk with ease. "As long as I am General of Halfmoon, an honorable warrior taking an honorable trophy will be respected. No matter their rank. Princess, name your forfeits. You have earned them and more."

Lyra nodded, her amber eyes meeting Catra's. "My heart, please. Let me do this for you?"

Catra forced a weak smile. "I had the thought the baron's cape would make great curtains? And the Baron's jacket. His coat is very fancy, and I can put Halfmoon's symbols on it, other things to show it's…"

Askar laughed. "Oh, I like that. Well played. I'll make sure it's altered and cleaned and sent up to you. His cape will hang in your window! And listen to your mother, princess. No shame. Your father was a magicat warrior. So are you. You have claim to our traditions."

Catra nodded. "Thank you."

She distracted herself with her juice. Made from the mineral heavy water from the springs feeding the city, the cold juice had quickly become one of Catra's favorites. The flavors were a mix she hadn't ever imagined. The minerals added depth, and Catra drained half her bottle in a few gulps. She drank the rest slower, alternating with careful, small bites of finger food, grateful not to have to try to use utensils just then. She knew she desperately needed to hydrate, but if she bolted the whole thing, she'd regret it later.

Askar threw her another bottle as she finished the first. "Good discipline. You're well trained. I can't imagine it was easy, but be proud of your skills, Princess."

Catra blinked. Someone other than Adora thought she had discipline?

"Disciplined? Me?" She huffed. "If you ever end up fighting my old trainers, tell them. They swore I'd never learn discipline."

Askar rolled his eyes. "I don't trust Horde trainers to know skill when they see it. I've heard from the guard. You've kept up your training since they let you out of the infirmary. You didn't founder yourself just now. That's discipline, Princess."

Lyra saved Catra from finding an answer by having them follow her. "This path - you'll learn it eventually. But it leads to a sacred place for our people. Our college teaching healing and magical arts is named for it - the Lost Temple is an old place, deep under Halfmoon. It is protected by magic, of course, but as long as you are with one connected to the RuneStone, you will be safe. Tell no one how to get to the Lost Temple - for their safety and for the protection of the RuneStone."

Catra nodded. Who would she tell, anyway? The only person she ever shared secrets with lived on the surface, in the Fright Zone. Everyone else she even remotely trusted was in Halfmoon with her.

Adora would have loved this. Ancient secrets and mysteries and answers to questions I never let her ask.

Pangs of regret stabbed her. Why had she always shut Adora down about everything? She could have at least let Adora ask the questions? It wouldn't surprise her if Adora ended up hating her - not with how she had been mean, sometimes. Angry all the time.

"Yeah, I'll keep the secret. Any of Halfmoon's secrets - I'm going to be their Princess. I won't betray them."

"You are their Princess," Lyra walked out into the darkened hallways. "You more than proved that tonight."

They went deeper into the castle, heading down. Further down than Catra had gone yet. As the marble stairs and carpeted halls lit by glow panels turned into dim, stone hallways lit by crystals and crude, cut stone steps carved into the rock itself, she realized magic must have hidden it from her.

"No one can see it, can they? They path?"

Lyra shook her head. "No. The Spirit Ember hides the way unless it has let you see the path. You didn't really see where we went, did you? Could you retrace your steps to get back here?"

"No," Catra hugged herself. "I couldn't."

Not knowing where she was or how to get back out was not a feeling she relished - she felt lost and out of control, but if she concentrated, she could think her way through it and find her way back out.

She knew she might never find her way back down to the Spirit Ember on her own again.

Not yet, anyway. (Did she really want to know?)

"Momma?" Catra genuinely hated how small her voice sounded. "Tell me the truth about magic. Tell me what I'm walking towards."

Secret Tunnels Below Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Lyra whispered, but her voice still carried in the stone tunnel.

"Etheria is just one world, my heart. One world of many in a vaster universe. The land we know is just one continent of that world - across the vastness of the Growling Seas there are other continents, with other peoples. The First Ones left writings about them, but we cannot read them. Before them, the Osirian and the Ancients left tales - and many think the last of the Osirian live across the Growling Seas."

Their steps and breathing echoed and the sound of water dripping was a ragged backdrop. The natural, dark stone was stained with age and the marks from the tools used to cut the tunnels were long since smoothed away.

And under Catra's skin, her nerves tingled and buzzed. Her knee and shoulder ached, but she ignored it. She needed the truth.

"But even in the vastness of the universe, Etheria is a special world - a nexus for great magical power. Our world is very, very old, Catra. Shaped and forged by magic. Shaped by war. Shaped by invasion from other worlds, sent here to take, to control, to use the very magic that is the life of Etheria for themselves. For some, it was simple hunger for power. For others, it was to use our magic as a weapon in wars of such size and complexity I can scarce imagine them. Those invaders are long dead now, gone from our world. Only ruins and vestiges remain. Hordak is the last."

Catra found herself mesmerized by her mother's voice; her cadence carried a weight to it as she narrated history the Horde never would have let her know. Hordak wasn't from Etheria - somehow, it felt like she knew that, but it wasn't something she was consciously aware of.

"Once, long ago, before the last terrible war, before the Horde, the world was very different. Stars burned in the sky. Tiny pinpricks of light guiding travelers and sailors - until the First Ones came. But many peoples on Etheria remember further back."

Askar was silent behind them as they walked through the smooth stone tunnels - tunnels now so old it was hard to tell if they had been carved by magic, by tools, or by nature. The air was heavy with the grainy scent of ancient stone - as if they were walking through the bones of the world, and heading towards a secret heart.

"The modern species of Etheria are new in history, some even descended from the older races. The Etherians of the great kingdoms are one of the oldest. Then us, and the scorpioni. The orcs of the what is now the Crimson Wastes. The lizardfolk. Fishfolk and merfolk. The trolls we share Subtheria with. The snakemen, long since exiled to Eternia. And many more have been born since - the fauns, and the other sylvan beings in Bright Moon and Plumeria, for example. Born of magic, it is thought. The legends and lore we know says only the Etherians are from this continent, where the Ancients first walked the world. The scorpioni - their history is another tale, but they, too, are from this continent. Everyone else came here later."

Catra felt the stone growing cooler under her feet the deeper they went, but despite being worn smooth, she found traction easily. But she was glad she had her weapons - even unsure what good they might do her.

What, was she going to fight the RuneStone? But Askar had said it before - violence was one of the ways she interacted with the world, and having her weapons made her feel more like herself.

"We, all of us, rose after the age of the Ancients. They were first. They built a great civilization, and eventually lived alongside a people known as Osirians. While the Ancients are thought to look much like Etherians, we know the Osirians had wings. The Ancients faded from history so long ago we have little true knowledge of them and were lost to time, but the Osirians endured as modern peoples rose. As did dragons and other powerful elder beings. Our legends say the Osirians - who, while old and civilized, were very long lived and had few children. Their civilization was far less expansive than the Ancients."

Lyra turned, walking backwards, her steps sure and easy, as if she were simply strolling through a castle hall. She knew the path - and she knew it well enough she didn't need to see where she was going.

"The Osirians passed the RuneStones to the people of modern Etheria, as we think they were passed to the Osirians from the Ancients. We do not know if the RuneStones are natural manifestations of magic - which is what I, personally believe - or are magical artifacts created by the Ancients to harness magic, as Mystacor and the Hall of the Lost Temple both teach. How many RuneStones there are isn't truly known, but we know each was given to people who needed the kind of magic their RuneStone gave."

They went down another set of steps and into almost complete darkness. Lyra sighed, and Catra could feel her tense -

Fire blossomed over their heads, lighting their way. She looked at her daughter. "I'm sorry, my heart. No technology will work down here. Only magic can light our way."

Catra shivered, but nodded.

"Our oldest histories come from a time when magicats lived on another continent of this world, in a land of dense jungles and rain forests and low mountains. A natural calamity - historians think a volcano or other geological cataclysm - drove us from our home continent to the shores of this one. We were greeted with open arms by the Osirians and the Scorpioni and we became nomadic tribes and clans clustered in small city states. We were offered the Spirit Ember, but the Council of Elders - as close to a ruling body as we had - declined. We did not one to be bound to one place, which the RuneStone would require."

The corridor became a tunnel sloping and curling down and Catra could feel it get colder; the cold felt good on her knee and not as good on her shoulder. The air was still heavy with the scent of stone and minerals and water - and ash.

Catra limped along, letting Lyra set the pace, and refusing to acknowledge how much she hurt. She wouldn't let pain - any more than she would fear - stop her.

"Our people went to war alongside the Scorpioni and the Osirians and the Etherians when the King Hsss and his snakemen marched to conquer the world. We drove them back to a single mountain range, setting the stage for their later exile. This war forged the beginnings of Etheria as we know it. The first of the great kingdoms rose, beginning with Bright Moon and the Empire of the Nest. Those of great magical might and power, bound to the RuneStones, were crowned Queens and Princesses and given the mandate to rule and to protect. Thus, they did."

Lyra paused. "Do you need a break, my heart? You're limping."

Catra huffed and shook her head. "I finish what I start. And I've had this kind of injury before; I know what this feels like. As soon as I stop moving, it'll stiffen up. I need to know this. I'm listening. Please, Momma."

With Askar there, she felt awkward continuing to call Lyra that - but she also couldn't stop herself. Her fear could have cost her everything. She could have lost her mother today! To assassins. To her own stupidity!

"Don't be stupid, Princess. Appreciate your knees while you can." Askar walked up next to her. "But if it's what you think it is and it's just a bad bruise, you're fine."

"Yeah." Catra shrugged. "Just a solid hit or two. It'll recover. I just might be a bit slow."

She really had done more with worse injuries. What were they so worried about?

Lyra sighed, but nodded. "If I did not fear you would never allow me to take you to the Spirit Ember if we turn back now, I would not allow this. Very well. In Salineas - then just a large coastal city-state known for sea trade - was ruled by a sorceress and her family. Most of whom had been pirates at one time. Under the seas, the merfolk and the fishfolk warred for generations, nearly destroying each other. This sorceress heard the Pearl call to her. She and her wife took the Pearl from the depths and to Salineas, ending the war and preventing genocide, thus becoming the first Queens of Salineas. The fishfolk, who still wanted to enslave and rule, retreated to the Growling Seas and the Sea of Demons. The merfolk allied with Salineas, aligning their peoples for the rest of history and creating the third great kingdom. During this age, Plumeria rose as an agrarian people, their Queen inherited the Heart Blossom from an older people who died of disease and infighting. Snows peacefully gathered the people of the icy north together under one banner, and Etheria was strong, proud, and not at war."

Catra nodded. "That never lasts, I take it?"

Askar laughed. "Not hardly, princess. But at least it's almost never our fault."

Lyra scowled at him with narrow eyes. "Not for lack of trying. Our people grew more numerous on Etheria as the great kingdoms rose. For a time, many of us were raiders, bandits, petty tyrants and warlords. Our fighting skills, our magics, our natural abilities make us formidable - we were also mercenaries, often for the Empire of the Nest as it grew to conquer other Scorpioni nests and cities. Eventually, one old warlord, Carnivus, drew us together in a great forest beyond the Empire of the Nest - what is now known as the Fright Zone and Horde Territory. He built a kingdom he meant to turn into an empire through conquest - Halfmoon. But Carnivus' dream of conquest was quashed by prosperity. We thrived and grew, and our people turned more towards the crafts of magic and tending the great rain forests. Why make war, when the wood of our trees was sought by every other kingdom? Why conquer when geography meant we would have to attack our allies first to spread what Carnivus wanted to be an Empire? We became allies with the Plumerians, and we even had some contact with the scholars of Bright Moon and the sorcerers of Mystacor."

Lyra drew in a breath, steeling herself. "During this age, what is now known as the Lost Kingdom had its capital on Mount Candila. No one knows what happened, but the stories agree. The Princess of that lost kingdom went mad from grief, and she lost control of her magic. The Spirit Ember went mad, and that kingdom and all its people were destroyed, utterly. In fires that could not be quenched. Most believe the Spirit Ember was lost, but it was not. The last Osirians brought it to Halfmoon and this time, the magicats accepted the gift."

Catra's eyes widened; the Spirit Ember had destroyed an entire Kingdom? And that was the magic her mother was bound to?

The very terrible uncontrollable magic she had been raised to wipe away from the world.

She opened her mouth, but her mother held up her hand. "I know, my heart. I know. I can feel you trembling, love. But hear me all the way out, please. Please, Catra. Please trust me, if only for a little longer." Lyra swallowed hard. "If, when we are done, you believe you have to strike me down to save our people, then - do it. Askar! Do you hear me? Do not intervene! You word. Give it to me now, on your oaths, or I will send you back up!"

Catra realized Lyra was right. She was trembling. She was shaking with the idea of the kind of power her mother had. The kind of power to destroy an entire kingdom and everyone within it.

The very power Shadow Weaver craved.

Askar growled deep in his chest, the sound reverberating through the tunnel. Catra could hear him grinding his teeth. "You have my word, your majesty. But if that comes to pass, what happens next will be between the Princess - and me. That is the best I can offer."

Catra sucked in a breath. "I accept. Because it won't, I - I wouldn't…"

Lyra stopped them, and spun Catra to face her, her eyes glowing with reflected fire. "You should. Catra, I am a Queen. I command armies. I command magic. I rule an entire people, and someday, you will too. If I am a danger to my people, to Etheria - then I should be struck down. The duty of a Princess - as much as it is to rule - is to guard the people. To stand for them, even as a Queen stands before the rest of the world."

"Damn it, Lyra!" Askar punched the wall. "You are not supposed to make your own damn death sound reasonable! And honorable!"

Lyra laughed softly. "You taught me, old man. Blame yourself for my over developed sense of duty."

He rubbed his bruised fist. "I blame Cyrus! That boy put notions in your head. Notions! Self-sacrificing nonsense!"

Catra almost laughed; hysterical giggles bubbled in her chest. That sounded like Adora - 'self-sacrificial nonsense' was pretty much Adora's entire life philosophy sometimes. Had her father been like Adora? Something about that idea made her feel giddy.

Lyra's tail curled around Catra's arm and she leaned against her daughter. "Please."

Catra nodded slowly, her fingers flexing on her staff. "Let's keep going. I'm going…" she swallowed hard. "I'm going to see this, whatever it is, through."

Lyra smiled. "I am proud of you, my heart. So proud. You are stronger than you know, and I love you with all that I am. I always have and I always will. I trust you, even if you do not trust yourself."

Catra sniffled, and Lyra pulled her close, running her hands through Catra's hair. "You are my daughter and you are the Princess of Halfmoon, and I am certain there is no one better to be."

Catra gave in and let herself be held.

Eventually, they continued on. "For a time, history records only small things. Minor wars. Mostly dark mages and warlords. Attempted conquests by the snakemen. Most were put down by a warrior of legend known as She-Ra - an inherited mantle of power passed down along Etherian lines for generations, but no one has worn that mantle since the First Ones left. But there was a She-Ra in every major war before that, and she often both aided and was aided by magicats. The Osirian records say She-Ra goes all the way back to the Ancients."

They exited the tunnel into a vast cavern - almost half the size of the cavern holding Halfmoon itself. The tunnel came out to a cliff - far below them, a river roared, and a heavy, ornate stone bridge stretched out across a wide chasm.

Lyra threw her fire, and it brightened and grew, spreading warm light that pushed back the shadows.

Across the chasm, it waited. A wide ziggurat of gold flecked black marble, worn by centuries, reaching deep back into the cavern, beyond Lyra's light.

It was a temple - there was no other word for it. It was an ancient, sacred place, hidden deep under the world. Tall statues of winged warriors flanked the steps leading up to it, each holding a massive spear - the tips of the spear were coppery metal, and their eyes were bright blue gems.

Their wings were intricately carved silver and gold, each feather wrought with painstaking fine detail and precision.

Over the doorway, carved into the stone, was a sacred motif of a warrioress raising a sword above her head, clad in armor of white and gold, a halo of prismatic light around her, her wings spread wide from her shoulders.

Red light bathed the black stairs leading to the doors.

And at the apex of the ziggurat, Catra saw it.

Like a heartbeat, the RuneStone pulsed; red and gold light flaring behind the windows. In between each flare, it burned like a banked fire, shimmering and simmering with magic she could taste on the air.

Lyra stood close to Catra, her tail still around her daughter's arm, her hand still clutching Catra's.

"The First Ones came from beyond our world. From other worlds. From the stars themselves. Powerful beyond hope or reason, they had technology we can still only barely comprehend and they wanted to learn more of magic - something the peoples of our world know well. At first, some thought they were gods made flesh or the Ancients returning. They told us they were teachers and healers and scholars, but they were not. They were warriors, desperate for power to win a war that had set worlds beyond ours afire with death and despair. They lied to us and slowly, Etheria became theirs. Their war became ours. And eventually, the sacred birthright of Etheria, the RuneStones, became their tools. Ours was hidden here, but others were not. The Spirit Ember may be the only RuneStone untouched by their hands."

Lyra waved her hand and torches lit around the cavern, showing just how large the temple was. Fires lit in braziers around the temple, and across what Catra now saw were three great bridges.

"How it happened is lost to us, but soon - they ruled Etheria. They did great deeds, I think to better control us. They healed many, built much, and taught us much. They ended wars, ended hunger, and banished the snakemen from Etheria to Eternia - the sister world of Etheria. Another world rich in ancient magic, but not in peoples. There were peoples on Eternia, but not nearly as many, and they fought for resources and each other. Where magic made Etheria a land of plenty, the catastrophic wars fought on Eternia turned it into a harsh, desolate world. The First Ones built many portals between Etheria and Eternia - only a few of which survive today. Many - an untold number - of people from Etheria were sent to Eternia to help discover the secrets of its magic and rebuild and repair it. Kingdoms grew on Eternia over generations, as well as other factions, until it was a world as fully complex as our own. Etherians were forced - coerced - into colonizing this other world, changing it forever as the First Ones changed Etheria forever."

Lyra sighed. "Including many magicats - mostly, the ones who did not want to settle in Halfmoon. Those we call the Old Clans, who hold to older, more nomadic ways. The migration to and colonization of Eternia was a well-kept secret of the First Ones. They did not even share it with the monarchs - just those who found their settlers for them. And for unknown generations, the First Ones were with us. For so long, many forgot they were not from Etheria. Overlords and allies who had taken our world as one of their last strongholds - though, we would not know this until much later."

Lyra looked out at the Temple. Right at the RuneStone. “Our people were safer than most. Halfmoon was - protected. A continent away from the great kingdoms, separated from the First Ones by the massive Empire of the Nest. Our contact with the rest of the world was limited to trade and a few embassies - and those of our people who were still mercenaries and warriors out in the world. They sent emissaries. We traded with them, and we did not fight their eventual rule of Etheria, because we could not, but they ignored us, for the most part. Halfmoon was a refuge for those who wanted to escape the First Ones, if they could reach us. It became part of our identity as people; to shelter those who needed it. To protect those vulnerable to exploitation. We sheltered heretics and dissidents and scholars and mystics. We kept their knowledge, their records, had them tell us their stories and we hid them in the city we now call Halfmoon, protected and archived for an uncertain future. But for a long time, Halfmoon was safe and unmolested, because the First Ones did not know we had the Spirit Ember, hidden and protected as it is. Until the First Ones brought their war to Etheria itself.”

“When the enemies of the First Ones came, all of Etheria fought with them. All our peoples died for them. All of our people bled for them. They took our sorcerers and our warriors into the stars to fight for them, and they died for a war that wasn’t theirs, far from home. They brought death and destruction to a world that had welcomed them and protected them, and from what we know, they simply saw it as their due. At the last, they even usurped the mantle of She-Ra. The stories of her are lost for the most part, but we magicats remember - because the last of the Osirians took shelter with us during this dark time, and they knew more than we did. Slowly, more and more First Ones had left Etheria or died in their war until only a few were left here. There were more in the greater universe, but how many - we don’t know. Theirs was a mighty, old empire but it had been at war for a long time. A very long time.

"Then came the end of the First Ones - it happened in a single day, they say. Magic screamed and the stories speak of sorcerers going mad. Magic run amok. The worlds - Etheria and Eternia - both trembled and shook. The Osirians told us the First One imbued with the stolen mantle of She-Ra turned on her own people and wrought mighty arts of magic and technology to protect us - but the price was high. The stars were gone, in the blink of an eye."

Lyra looked out at the temple. "It didn't end there. Magic was - changed. Different. More potent in some ways, lost and weakened in others, as if they did something to the nature of magic itself. Both Etheria and Eternia lost the stars - but Eternia was changed more. One hemisphere is now forever shrouded in darkness. Every generation, sometimes, twice or more a generation we had to fight. Portals would open or ships would come to the skies. Never a true invasion - never enough of them to call it more than an incursion! Not that they needed many. But they came. Again and again. Small armies of men in white and green, with terrible weapons and implacable purpose. The portals allowing them to reach us never lasted long. A few seconds at a time, sometimes. Over time, the number of portals dwindled until they were so rare they have been forgotten by most - and it has been a thousand years since the stars vanished. Hordak came through the last one - before that, it had been five hundred years since the last incursion. While he was the only warrior to survive, he was enough to build the Horde, and his remaining forces were enough to raze our forests and drive us to the sanctuary the Osirians gave us even as he alone conquered our closest allies - the scorpioni - and went to war with the world. The rest - you know."

It was going to take Catra a while - and a lot of questions - to parse all of that. There was so much she didn't know. Or understand yet.

"And magic?"

Lyra's ears went back. "Magic is part of Etheria. Magic is part of our people. We all have some small magical gift or talent, can learn a few simple spells. The only people I know of who can. But magic and Etheria are bound together. It gives our world life, and variety. Feeds and sustains the nature of Etheria. Magic runs through the world - every part of it. And Etheria shares its magic with its people. It lets use it to heal, to create. To fight and to kill. And even to hurt. But magic is a choice, my heart. Always a choice. Magic defines Etheria, but how magic is used it up to the person. Magic is powerful, yes, but it is an amplifier. It makes a person more of what they already are. More capable, yes, in some ways. Magic can be beautiful and inspiring and amazing or dark and terrible and fearsome. But magic is Etheria. The Horde's desire to stamp it out means killing everything that makes our world what it is. And the RuneStones are manifestations of that magic. Power sources, yes, but each one has a different kind of magic, can do different things. Magic has shaped the world. We are, all of us, part of the magic of Etheria."

Catra stared out across the chasm at the burning red light. "That's it, isn't it? The Spirit Ember. And you're…you're…bound to it?"

Lyra nodded. "That is our RuneStone, yes. And I am not bound to it. I am bonded to it. I was already a sorceress when my parents' were killed, and it called to me as soon as my parents passed. When we returned from the Fright Zone, Askar had to follow me down here and into the temple, where I am bonded to the RuneStone. Even now, it powers the magical defenses of Halfmoon and barely notices the power those use."

Catra steeled herself, gripping her mother's hand. She had already failed once today. She wasn't going to fail again.

And she wasn't going to strike her mother down. She had lost Adora. She wasn't going to lose Lyra.

She couldn't.

She stared harder at the temple, trying to force it to reveal its secrets with the force of her will alone.

"Tell me about it. The RuneStone. I don't know what I don't know."

Lyra smiled, reaching up to run her fingers through Catra's hair. "RuneStones are magic; neither good nor evil. They are natural forces, like storms or seas. They are ancient. Primal. And in our hands they are powerful, dynamic tools to defend our peoples. They empower magic, generate it, focus it. Those they allow to bond with them gain great powers and gifts. Sometimes, those gifts are passed between generations, but not always. Sometimes, each wielder gets their own gifts. They are ancient beyond knowing, and there are echoes of memories in them, teaching each new wielder how - and why - to use their power."

Lyra took a single step out onto the bridge. "RuneStones are also a sacred trust. Given to Queens and Princesses who can channel their powers to defend and protect the peoples of Etheria. Then - as now - only a few have the correct kind of magic to bond with them. Royal lines have died out and then been reborn as new wielders were chosen - but the ability seems to be passed mother to daughter, and every Queen bound to a RuneStone is almost certain to have a daughter should they have children. What magic needs, it can create. Time and again, when war has come, the powers of the RuneStones have protected entire Kingdoms from conquest or worse. Sometimes, Queens and Princesses have failed - but even in the face of the Horde, there is a stalemate. RuneStones can be a burden and they can be a promise for a people."

Catra's tail lashed. "The problem is there's no guarantee, is there? No way to make sure the people who should have the power are the ones who get it. And no way to take it away if the wrong people get the power."

Lyra shook her head. "No. That is a secret the Queens and Princesses keep to ourselves. A RuneStone wielder can be defeated. By sorcerers - Mystacor teaches arts that can sever us from the Stones, though not permanently. Akrash will be passing these arts to a select few in the Hall of the Lost Temple. By warriors canny and skilled enough. By overwhelming force. By She-Ra - who is, by all rights - a more powerful mantle than even the RuneStones. What she is, exactly, we don't know, but if there is any who could, she could." The queen pointed to the white and gold warrior. "But there hasn't been a She-Ra in a thousand years."

If she learned magic, Akrash would be teaching her that trick. She would wring it out of him if she had to.

Catra stared across the bridge. "Do you have any idea how scary that is for someone who was raised to fight against this kind of magic? To see and know it's dark side? The Horde is wrong about you…but are they wrong about every Queen? Every Princess? Are they wrong that this kind of power in one person's hands isn't terrifying?"

"No." Lyra shook her head. 'They aren't wholly wrong, but they aren't wholly right. RuneStones can - and have - limited the power they give some wielders. And some just can't bond to them. Some, the RuneStones reject, and when that happens, all magic is stripped from the rejected Princess. The RuneStones are terrifyingly powerful, yes, but the things Etheria has been subject to have only been defeated because of them. Because for ten thousand years, there has only been one Princess who failed in her duty to control her magic and use it right. Because the burden of protecting the people of this world has to fall on someone who can do it - and there aren't many options. Is it right? I don't know. But it is what we have."

Catra tugged at her hair, sighing. "I want to argue with you, but I don't know if I'm wanting to argue because I think I'm right or because I'm scared of it. So I think I need to go look it in the face - if it has a face - and find out."

Chapter Text

The Lost Temple

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Catra stood in front of the long bridge crossing the chasm between the caverns and the ancient temple protecting her people's RuneStone. The Spirit Ember pulsed like a heart afire, throbbing with barely contained magic that made her skin itch and her fur stand up. Red and gold light brushed through the air in waves, dappling the dark cave in shapes and shadows, hinting at both the promise of power and the threat of destruction.

Her eyes - one blue and one gold - narrowed until all she saw was that shimmering, reverberating fire.

Until the roar of the river below her became a soft whisper. Until the vast expanse of the ancient depths shrank to just the singular path she had. The dark stone bridge, worn by time, was still stout and sturdy. The black marble walkway would take her to the stairs leading into the temple - and to the Spirit Ember.

A lost RuneStone for a hidden nation. An unbroken magic for an unbowed people.

It waited for her.

Calling her.

She felt a faint tug just beyond physical sensation. Urging her forward.

Somehow, Catra knew - her mother could tell her the stories. She could learn about magic. She could even try to learn sorcery. She could fight Princesses or stand against the Horde. She could wonder forever. Or she could go and stare into the manifestation of Etherian magic and let it tell her the truth about herself and about the world she had never quite lived in.

Her mother caught her arm.

"Catra. I know I said tonight - now - is the time, and I know you feel like you have to do this, but I didn't realize how hurt you were before. I want to make sure you know. You don't have to do this today. You're hurt. You just fought off a coup and helped save us all. You can come back here. I will always bring you here; it is as much yours as it is mine."

Catra couldn't look away from the RuneStone, but her tail wrapped around her mother's wrist. She whispered, because as much as she liked Askar, she didn't know how much she trusted him.

"If I don't do this now, if I don't finish what I started, I don't know that I ever will."

Lyra sighed, lowering her head. "Askar. Remain here. This is for my daughter and I."

"Your majesty - " the old warrior started to protest, but there must have been something in Lyra's posture or a gesture she made. Catra didn't know. Askar growled, but took a step back.

"Six hours, your majesty. That's how long we were in there when we came here after you became Queen. That is how long I am willing to wait before I come in after you."

Catra could hear it in his voice. He wanted to protest more. To argue - probably he had gone into the Lost Temple before. That the Queen and her heir going into the Lost Temple unescorted and unprotected this soon after a coup was a fool's errand.

"Very well. I will signal you if we need longer. Or if we need help. But Askar - this isn't about you. This is about my daughter, and I will enforce my will on this."

The old general grumbled. "As you say, your majesty."

Catra stared at the bridge.

Clad in armor she had taken from men who would have murdered her in her bed, wielding a staff she had taken from the first Princess she had ever met - or fought - Catra took her first step onto the bridge. The cold, smooth stone had enough purchase she wouldn't slip.

Her knee burned and pain radiated from the inflamed soft tissue, but the joint was sound. It held her weight. It just hurt.

She had to grit her teeth and force herself to take that step. Her legs wanted to root her in place and her fear and panic screamed at her to turn around, drop to all fours and run the other direction as fast as she could go.

She was a tiny thing compared to the forces contained in the Lost Temple, and she knew it.

Part of her wanted her old mask from the Horde, but it hadn't made the trip to Halfmoon with her. It seemed like an anachronism of her old life. Only here, facing down the primordial magics of a forgotten age - the remnants of the beginning of Etherian culture and history - that she wanted something of who she had been with her.

The next few steps were easier. She had already started, and Catra finished what she started. She gripped her staff tightly enough her shoulder throbbed with her rapid heartbeat.

By the time she made it to the midpoint of the bridge, she strode forward with something like her old confidence. Because she had remembered she always had something of her old life with her.

She had her name. Something of her time in the Horde and - more importantly - something Adora had given her that could never be taken away. As long as she was Catra, she had part of Adora with her.

She had her claws; magically grafted to her body, the prosthetic replacements for her natural weapons were part of the Horde that would always be with her. Proof of what the Horde had considered her. How Shadow Weaver had treated her.

Not a person, but a potential weapon.

She had her mother a few steps behind her; the Queen who had been with her from the beginning and had never stopped wanting her back. Never stopped remembering her. The most prominent figure in her first life and this third life she was just beginning.

Finally, she stood before the stairs, flanked on either side by the statues of winged warriors.

"Osirians?" She pointed up with her staff.

"Yes. Statues of the old Osirian warriors who guarded temples like this across Etheria where the RuneStones and other great magical artifacts were protected. But by the time the First Ones were both gone from Etheria, there were places where they and the Osirians were almost one and the same. They had interbred and intermingled to the point where you didn't know which you were speaking to. The stories speak of the First Ones hoping the Osirians could revitalize their dying people, but we don't truly know what became of either. As I said - there are legends of settlements of Osirians on other continents, but we do not know the truth of it."

Catra walked up the first step, again ignoring her knee. She could hurt tomorrow. "This is a place of - the Ancients? That the Osirians took for their own, later?"

"Yes, or so the Osirians told us. It is, I think, the oldest standing structure I have ever seen, much less stepped foot in. This place is steeped in history, permeated with magics, and fraught with secrets we may never discover. We've explored and mapped much of the Temple, many times, but every time we do, we discover something new or that the ways through it have changed."

Catra squinted up at it.

"As mysterious and ominous as that sounds, I think it's going to have to give up at least a few secrets to me. I need answers and that - " she pointed up to the RuneStone, "- seems to want to talk to me. Or something. It had better explain itself, or I might see what happens when I whack it with my new pretty stick."

Catra never did see the expression on her mother's face as she threatened to assault the ancient magical artifact with an heirloom magical staff, but she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"I don't think hitting the RuneStone is going to help anything, Catra." Lyra followed Catra as she forced herself up the stairs, towards the doors of the temple.

Catra huffed. "It might make me feel better. I know how to deal with things I can hit with a stick. I know how to fight people with magic. I don't know how to figure out the truth of magic - if the Horde is right or the rest of Etheria is right or if we're all just crazy and don't know what we're doing."

Catra didn't think she had ever been as scared as right then. Her hand felt empty - she wanted Adora's hand in hers. Walking next to her. She wanted everything to be simple again, not figuring out how to deal with magic. Dealing with maybe having magic of her own.

She wanted to not be afraid of the power her mother wielded. Or on the verge of panic at the idea she might have magic.

To say nothing of the idea she might inherit a RuneStone someday. Waking up in Halfmoon and becoming a damned Princess was hard enough, especially after starting to feel the first stirrings of responsibility and attachment to the people she was supposed to help lead.

No matter how unsuited for it she knew she was.

Lyra walked up beside her. "My father brought me here for the first time when I was much younger than you are now. As his father brought him. They could not connect to the RuneStone, but there were always those in our line who could who chose not to rule. When you're ready, I will bring you back here, and - if you want to - you can try to bond with the stone."

Catra glanced over at her. "Then why did you tell Kittrina she couldn't be Princess?"

Smiling ruefully, the queen shook her head. "Caught that, did you? Dynastic rules and monarchies are complicated. Princess is a title given to a woman who is closely related to the royal line and in the direct line of succession. Kittrina has the rank of princess, but is not my heir. A person in the line of succession who can connect to the RuneStone always has primacy. Everyone else comes second. When we had male rulers, there were heirs who were not ready to ascend the throne or other family members who had declined to rule who bonded to the stone. Kittrina could rule if you stepped aside, but as long as you want the position of my heir and can bond to the RuneStone, you will always outrank her."

Catra sighed. "That's complicated and maybe stupid. She's got training, right? What if she is the better choice?"

"Kittrina is trained in formal rules of governance, but she is not trained in leadership. You have some of that training from being in the Horde, and far more knowledge of our enemy. She is also from Eternia, making her less legitimate. Her claim to royalty comes from her marriage to Aster - your father's cousin. His claim to our line comes from having been related to your father, who was not royal until he married me. While Kittrina is related to the leadership of the Old Clans, her training was to interact with and trade with Halfmoon, not rule it or understand Etheria. She is a good person, I think, if more ambitious than I like. All things being equal, she may have more knowledge, but I think you have more skills - and the ability to connect to the RuneStone. If you can feel it, then the ability is there."

Catra could definitely feel it.

Lyra gripped her hand. "You are the right choice to be my heir, my heart. Fear of magic does not disqualify you or make me doubt. There is often as much wisdom in fear as there is in bravery. And I am glad to be with you as you challenge your fear."

Catra stumbled a bit, but forced herself onward. "I'm glad you're here. I'm…yeah, I'm scared of it. It's everything I grew up afraid of. To think of as evil in the world and it's buried underground in a creepy ancient temple. This is the nightmare scenario. I don't know if I'll ever be ready to bond with it…to have that kind of power, but I will do what's necessary."

Afraid or not, she would not let her people down. She would not fail them again.

There were too many people counting on her. It was an oppressive weight crushing down on her, almost suffocating her, but Catra had never been one to give in. She didn't bend or surrender. She powered through. Whatever stood in front of her either stopped her or she went through it.

Is this how Adora always felt? With all of us looking to her for answers? For direction? For protection?

Sometimes, small stabs of shame or guilt still plagued her. She knew she had gotten away with as much as she had because Adora had protected her. She knew Adora had protected all of them. Adora had used her status with Shadow Weaver to keep them all safe. Not that the others had cared much; they didn't understand what Adora did for them. They didn't give much back to her, no matter how much Adora spun out of herself for them.

Catra had tried to give back, even if she had trusted Adora to protect her from the worst of it. When they had taken her claws, Adora had been there to make it better. This time, Catra had somehow pushed too far, done too much - and now Adora was alone. No one else would step into Catra's place with Adora. And even if they'd wanted to, would Adora trust them enough to let her?

Catra trudged up towards the door, step by step, her mother beside her. She felt a pang of guilt for that, too. She had Lyra. She had Akrash - sort of. Probably even Askar. But Adora had no one.

Except there, Catra knew who to blame. Shadow Weaver had taken her from Adora. Had taken Adora from Catra. Shadow Weaver had hurt them both. Shadow Weaver was still hurting Adora.

With each step, with each time her feet scraped over cold black stone, with the door looming every closer, Catra knew she wasn't just doing this because she was a Princess. She wasn't just doing this to overcome her fear. She wasn't just doing this to prove herself to her mother.

She was doing this because magic - because the RuneStone - because becoming Princess of Halfmoon in fact as well as name was the only sure path to Adora. She would just make sure she did a damn good job at the rest of it, too.

If magic, if the RuneStone, gave her the power to get back to Adora, she would take it. If magic and the RuneStone were necessary to protect her people, she would use them.

Finally, the doors towered over her, many times higher than she could see, even craning her neck all the way back. No hinges. No knob, no lever - no way to open them.

Catra narrowed her eyes at the doors, willing them to open with sheer determination.

Lyra stood next to her. "I can open them, if you want."

Her offer was sincere. Genuine. Nothing in her warm voice suggested she thought less of Catra for maybe needing help. She offered because this wasn't a test. Or a ritual. They were facing Catra's fear together.

Catra brushed her mother's arm with her tail and leaned forward, pressing the butt of her staff against the doors. They didn't budge. Or creak. There was a muffled thump as metal touched stone.

Catra looked up at the beautiful motif of the winged warrioress in white and gold. Her hair was gold and her wings were white and gold. And her eyes were blue. Beautiful, achingly familiar steel blue. The right blue.

The image set into a perfect diamond seemed made of gems or crystal and flickered in the reddish light of her mother's spell, the torches, and the unending flares of light from the RuneStone.

When a flash of gold from the RuneStone washed over the image, Catra almost thought she was looking at Adora.

She stared up at the image, whispering. Pleading. "Let me in. For her. Please."

Lyra reached out and gripped her hand, but then gasped as the doors slowly slid open; the grinding of stone on stone echoed through the cavern. As the doors parted, Catra stared into the black abyss beyond, watching as, one by one, torches of golden flame lit, marking a path to a spiraling ramp.

"Catra," Lyra gripped her daughter's hand tightly, "what did you do?"

She glanced at her mother, and saw the Queen's eyes were wide in shock. "I asked it to open?"

She didn't want to talk too much more about Adora. She'd cried enough for one day. For one lifetime. Some things she wanted to keep safe. Secret. For her - because sharing them wouldn't do anything to fix them or make it hurt less. Adora was still back in the Fright Zone and she was still under the world, about to face a RuneStone and her fear of magic.

"My heart," Lyra pulled Catra to her, pressing her head to her daughter's shoulder. "These doors open only to one whom the RuneStone has called to bond - which it has not yet done for you, trust me - or one who has bonded to it. And then, only to the language of the Osirians. That was a singular event, as far as I know. Proof, daughter, you are far more special and far more important to Halfmoon than you give yourself credit for."

Catra heard her mother whisper, as if to herself. "You are already everything to me, no matter what you tell yourself."

Whether she was meant to hear or not, Lyra's whisper meant more to Catra than she knew how to say - or feel. She sniffled, but kept her eyes fixed forward. The air in the temple itself smelled old and warm and dry - but somehow both like burnt stone and the smell in the air just before rain.

As they crossed under the archway leading to the spiraling ramp, Catra saw two broken statues of massive cats with immense manes of red gems. But they were worn and featureless and broken. Near crumbling.

Lyra touched one as they passed. "These guardian statues are everywhere inside, but they are all broken and shattered. The hidden records of the kings and queens of Halfmoon say they broke when the First Ones did something with magic, just hours before She-Ra made the stars vanish. They have always made me sad, for some reason - but there is still one unbroken, in the Ember's Hall, and it is a thing of beauty."

As they walked up the ramp, more torches lit, filling the air with syrupy, flickering golden light. Despite the ramp being stone, their feet made no sound. Even their breathing seemed muffled. The ramp took them up far higher than Catra thought they would go, giving her a new appreciation for the immense scale of the temple.

They walked out into a short, narrow hall leading to the room Catra could feel the RuneStone flaring from.

The room wasn't black stone. It wasn't blue or gray like the castle. The entire room was golden stone flecked with copper, still as smooth, as glossy and stainless as it had ever been. The trim on the walls was pure, clean white stone. There were columns of copper metal crafted in intricate patterns reminding her of rising flame and smoke going from the floor to the domed ceiling.

Around the room, copper torches lit with gold fire, flame burning around a dark red stone atop each. Red gems were pressed into the walls, along the runner separating sections of the wall, like a seam of unbearably glittering jewels wrapping around the room.

In the center of the room, over a pedestal of carved white fire, the Spirit Ember waited. A teardrop shaped spear of deep red stone barely as long as Catra's forearm and barely thicker around, it seemed to smolder from the inside out, like golden coals burned inside it. An infinity of tiny facets was cut into every curve and angle, as heat and fire seemed to drip off into the air around it. A faint sound, like the crackling of banked flame in a well-tended fireplace echoed through the room. It hovered over the pedestal, slowly spinning in place, wisps and tracers of fire curling around it, as if caressing the surface of the stone.

Behind it, as if standing guard over it, was the statue Lyra had spoken of. A massive cat carved from black stone, down to the perfect, exquisite detail of their muscles and teeth, and a flared mane of red crystal a shade brighter than the Spirit Ember.

"It's smaller than I expected." Catra slowly walked closer to it, but still keeping her distance.

"I said the something similar when I first saw it." Lyra walked around Catra and reached her hand out to touch the fires around the stone. "But it is not such a large thing for what it is and what it does - for us. Someday, you may connect with it, and it will give you magic beyond your own. Eventually, you may bond with it and gain immense power - or you may not. Not every King or Queen has bound to the stone, but the knowledge of how, the knowledge of the magic is forever preserved in our records for each generation to have."

As Lyra touched the stone itself, it brightened, as if greeting the Queen.

Catra set her staff against the floor, leaning on it as she stared at the stone. She stared into the shimmering red; into the simmering gold light trapped within it.

What are you? Are you my enemy or my ally - or are you a force of nature we're arrogant enough to try to tame?

Golden light wrapped in red fire pulsed and answered.

It felt like the world slowed around her. The golden light in the air wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket, a comforting embrace welcoming her…home? Her breathing slowed. Her heartbeat slowed and she could hear each beat echo in her ears - a drum beat screaming she lived even as the golden light wrapped around her, flowed through her, as streamers of red light reached out to touch her, brushing along her fur.

It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a voice. It wasn't even a thought. It was an impression indelibly carved into the world, as if placed there at the moment of creation. As she felt herself pulled along by the magic, through the magic -

As heart slowly hammered in her ears -

She smelled it first; the smell of burning wood. Or melting stone. The acrid tang of lava and the smoke of a forest ablaze. The soft, sweet warmth of fire holding back a blizzard. The faint bitterness of wax dripping over stone as a candle lit a tiny room. The steam of hot springs and of a cup of tea, heated by fires deep within the earth or the coals under a kettle. The fires that shaped continents and the fires that lit the way all spun through her mind, captured and mirrored in the heart of the Stone.

Inside the stone, it held the essence of the fires of the world. It didn't cage them; it sheltered them and focused them and protected them; embraced them and nurtured them.

She saw it next; the rainbow auras flitting through the air, surrounding and permeating everything. Every mote of dust in the air. Every stone. Every torch. Her and mother. The prismatic lines around them, auroras with meanings Catra couldn't quite understand, pulsed and flowed and wavered; those lines reached out from each thing, from each person trailing off into the distance. Some faint. Some strong. The lines of color and meaning; the lines of connection and context shading every person and thing everyone and everything interacted with through the span of existence, layered and blended and twined together.

It knew the spirits of everything that had touched Etheria; it knew the essence of them, reflecting it back into the world for those who could see with eyes it gave them. The spirits of the world, revealed to those it knew were worthy.

And from her, a line of pink and red and yellow and blue spun its way through the air to wrap around and through Lyra, glowing and steady and strong; an unbroken, unbreakable chain.

Momma.

Catra gasped, or tried to, but the breath came in slow motion, the liquid syrup of the air drawing it out. Her free hand rose towards her mother, finally seeing - feeling - a pale imitation of what her mother felt for her.

She understood more now. The RuneStone was primordial. So old as to feel ages and epochs as breaths and centuries as the tiniest ticks on a clock. From the world before the Ancients - who had not truly been from Etheria, for all that they were of Etheria. The rise and fall of history passing it by in the blink of an eye - the RuneStone encompassed more than Catra could wrap her mind around.

She understood. No Queen, no Princess, no sorceress could stand before the ageless and timeless magic held in that red and gold gem and not feel small. Not feel humbled by what they were touching. What they were being allowed to be a tiny part of. And without that humility, without the ability to surrender to that knowledge, to give into the nature of the magic, to accept their small but significant place -

The power of the RuneStone would pass them by. Slip through grasping fingers, only droplets of a river remaining to be used.

The stone brightened, and Catra saw again.

Another twining, writhing, chain reached out from Catra. Not spun of lines of light, but forged into being by will and by choice and by hardship and by pain; through compassion and through respect and through comfort and through assurances and through every dark night they had ever been through -

That connection was a deep, pulsing gold; flecked with purple and maroon and a thousand other colors Catra couldn't ever name; a rainbow into and of itself and forged of magic; both old and new, crackling and defying the patterns and currents of power in Etheria by its very existence. Pulled taut by distance and strained by hurt, it held.

At the other end, Catra could almost …almost hear her. The sound of her voice. She could almost …almost smell her.

Adora.

Feeling almost close enough to touch, if Catra could reach a little further. A part of her she had never acknowledged uncurled in her chest and reached without hands, stretching out along the rainbow chain towards Adora.

She felt it stop her, slow her - a wall. A sick miasma that smelled like blood, felt like decay slicking her fur. It blocked her. She pushed against it, not seeing her staff lighting in her hand, ablaze with gem-red flame and not seeing her own eyes, alight with her magic for the first time since childhood.

Desperate, she turned back, in slow motion, towards the RuneStone, imploring. Begging. And the RuneStone reached back out to her, lines of red light wrapping around her. A cloud of gold motes settling over her.

Catra didn't see her mother's look of horror or hear her terrified scream.

Catra felt. Adora was hurting. In silence and in darkness and in cold - but Catra knew; in her hands she had light. In her veins, she had warmth. If she could give the smallest bit of that to Adora…

Swirling streamers of red and gold spun around the line between her and Adora, and the light and the warmth and the essence that was Catra and was the magic of Etheria arced down that line and across the world.

The fires rose up around her as the RuneStone poured out its magic for her and Catra could only ride the fire.

Her gift to Adora. She was alone; Adora was alone. All they had was a chain of rainbows and gold she might never get to see again. At least she knew Adora lived. All Adora had was the echoes of light and warmth Catra could give her.

The fires grew hotter around her and Lyra encanted through tears, desperate to pull some of the fire away from Catra before it consumed her.

And finally, Catra heard.

The comforting, unending heartbeats. Hers roared in her ears, but she pushed it away, pushed the sound down and forced it to silence itself so she could hear the whisper of Adora's heartbeat in the distance.

Her chest ached.

But she could hear Adora's heartbeat.

As the fires around her dimmed, the light dimmed, she heard the third heartbeat. And with it, she felt her own heartbeat roar in her ears again, hammering faster and faster as the ache in her chest faded.

Adora…!

But the fires around her were fading, and soft sounds, a discordant, distant mewing as something cold pressed against her cheek. She finally noticed she had fallen to her knees, her staff on the floor next to her. On one side of her, Lyra clutched her, sobbing.

On the other side of her, a great black cat had their nose pressed against her face, nuzzling, their sleek black fur cool in the warm air, their mane a spectral blue. Catra leaned on them and Catra could - feel -

Not alone. We are together.

A thousand images swam in her head of a people once allied with the Osirians. Once sheltered on Etheria from a great, faceless enemy of white and green. A people lost between worlds, trapped by the magics of the First Ones and great dark wizards that commanded the endless nothing between the stars.

Trapped in stone, waiting for a time they could break through. Shattered by the terrible magics wrought by the First Ones.

Except them.

Alone, they had waited to hear one who wanted to reach beyond themselves. Who saw past the battles of nations to the connections between people. For someone who saw magic as nothing but a force of the world.

Melog. The great cat had heard her through the timeless place they were trapped in. Anchored to her. They were beautiful and strange - but she could feel them and they were warm and they trusted Catra. They anchored her as much as she anchored them, and they were happy she was herself and they were happy she was here.

And they showed her; they let her feel her mother's relief. Her mother's joy. Her mother's fear. And a brighter, more overwhelming emotion - as all-encompassing as the RuneStone. Lyra's love for her daughter, and in that seamless flow of brightness was no room for Catra's shame or for Catra's fear - only worry for her daughter's fragile heart and her intense desire to find a way to heal it.

Catra tried to hug them both at once, gasping and sobbing.

"Catra! My heart, what…is that…I…what?" Lyra shook herself. "How did you manage to try to bond with the RuneStone without a shred of training? How did you survive the attempt? How are you connected to it without knowing a thing about magic? Did - did they rescue you? They appeared, from the statue - and - are they a guardian? A guide?"

Catra shook head and collapsed back against Melog, and he let out a low, rumbling purr, resting his chin on her head. "No. No - they're a friend. Melog's a friend. They felt me in the magic and…here they are. As for the rest of it, I don't know. There's magic and then there's that damn thing. Then the RuneStone showed me what it was. And I understand now."

Lyra laughed and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to her daughter's. "Tell me, my heart."

Melog felt easy to accept; her daughter had spent the day performing impossible feats. Why not bring a statue to life as a friend?

"You have to know yourself or madness can come. You have to be able to stand against the fire and the light and not be burned, or the magic will just drip away from you. You have to be able to not want the power for it to want you. That's why so few have abused it or gone mad - because if you aren't strong enough to do right by it, the magic itself will destroy you if reach for it. Or the magic will just slip away from because you can't understand what it is or how to use it."

Which is why she now knew Shadow Weaver didn't truly have the power of the Black Garnet. She stole scraps of its magic, twisted its purpose, demanding it surrender what was never hers. She had enslaved it, somehow. And somehow, it had been broken, corrupted and sick.

"I didn't connect to it. It connected to me. Your glowy fire rock is a dumb face. It was supposed to show me things, not try to set me on fire and give me more magic. Rude, for a giant floating rock."

Lyra sighed. "Oh, my heart…please. Please explain It to my council exactly that way. For your mother. As a treat. I so rarely get to see them scandalized these days."

Catra shrugged. "Sure. But can I have a nap first? Assassins woke me up and I really want to go back to bed. Or, under the bed. Whatever."

The Lost Temple

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Lyra laid down on her side, pulling Catra with her. The stone was shockingly cool under her, and it wasn't until she felt the cool that she realized just how overheated she was. Melog stretched out next to Catra, their giant head on her shoulder, the great cat's rumbling purr vibrating her and easing aches.

Their purr reverberated deeper, like it was a sound inside her and not just around her. She didn't mind; it was comforting and grounding, and she needed both. She knew if she tried to move, she would tremble and shake. (If she could stand at all.)

The queen reached her hand up, murmuring words; the magic was softened in the chamber, whispering through the air with ease, as if reality itself were softer, more malleable. Twisting copper and gold light shimmered into being, the edges blurred by flame as a ball of light and magic flew from the Lost Temple.

"There. Askar has been told we are fine, but have to rest a bit. He'll wait, of course, because he's stubborn and worries too much."

"It's entirely possible we worry too little," Catra murmured. "I don't think either one of us takes 'self-preservation' as seriously as we should."

Lyra laughed. "No, no we aren't exactly keen on it, are we?"

Catra huffed. "Given tonight? I'd say we need practice."

"Maybe we do." Lyra clung to her daughter. "My heart, you have no idea what you have done, do you?"

Her mother's question felt ridiculous. It made sense to ask, but it still felt ridiculous. The entire situation felt ridiculous. Unreal. Everything from the time she'd gone to get Adora water to now, laying in front of a secret RuneStone, her mother the Queen on one side of her, a giant space cat on the other side and Catra was suddenly wondering if there were traditions and rules for having a giant space cat at her Coronation.

Because somehow, she was going to be crowned Princess of Halfmoon.

Catra closed her eyes, letting the surprising cool of the stone soak into her; her skin and fur felt raw, and it felt like she'd been sunburned under her skin.

"When do I ever? Why should now be any different?" She could hear the exhaustion in her own voice; she was drained and worn. Her chest ached, she felt hollow at the same time her bones felt like lead. "It's a stupidly magical glowy fire rock. I don't think it cares about our rules."

Lyra clutched Catra's arm, her inhale sharp and fast. "You almost died. You have no training for connecting with the RuneStone, no training with channeling magic, much less that much magic! You went stiff and then limp - held up by the magic. Near the end, before the statue somehow became your new friend - which I am being remarkably sanguine about - and brought you out of it, somehow, you had stopped breathing!"

Catra shuddered. Of course she had nearly died; she'd encountered one of the most powerful magical forces on the entire planet and practically dared it to reveal universal truths to her. Not her brightest moment.

"To be fair, it could have gone worse?" Catra hadn't meant to scare Lyra. She didn't know how she wasn't curled up in the corner mewling like a kitten. "I didn't mean to. I really didn't. I got my answers, but I didn't mean to scare you or break any rules or - I just wanted to know and I think the stupid glowy fire rock wanted to show me."

As long as she didn't call it a RuneStone out loud, she could stave off panic a little while longer, right?

Some of Lyra's tension started to ease. "There's a lot - a lot - of preparation for connecting to the RuneStone. Magical training, for those with the talent. Ritual meditation and learning to feel and channel magic for those without. Even trained and prepared, when I came down here after you were taken and bonded with it, I was nearly overwhelmed, and Askar had to all but carry me back to Halfmoon."

Catra groaned, but her head was clearing. She was hungry and thirstier than she'd ever been. "I don't care how bad I feel. I'm not getting carried anywhere. You keep using different words. Bonded. Connect. Like they mean different things."

She needed those answers, and she wanted to distract her mother from another unfortunate truth of her time with the Horde; her depth and breadth of experience having RuneStone powered magical energy suddenly and violently channeled through her wouldn't reassure her mother.

Lyra laughed softly. "Oh, Catra. I intended to explain those very things when you and Spirit Ember decided to ignore how things are normally done. The RuneStones bond to a queen or princess who can access and use the full extent of their powers. Each RuneStone grants specific gifts and specific powers, but often an individual will get their own special gifts. My affinity for fire is greatly increased - to the point my command of it is greater than normal magic would ever allow, even without tapping the magic of the Ember."

Catra arched her back slowly, feeling vertebrae pop and align. Magic was apparently as hard on her body as fighting. She'd done both tonight. Her muscles felt like she'd spent the day running simulations.

"So you said before. Do you have any idea how powerful you are in comparison to most sorcerers I've met? I mean, really. You did things tonight Shadow Weaver struggle with, and she's the most powerful sorceress the Horde has - and she uses the Black Garnet. She's not connected to it; even I know that much, now. Akrash might be more powerful than some of the stronger sorcerers, but even he's not Shadow Weaver's equal."

Lyra let out a long, slow breath. "It's true. I am the most powerful sorceress Halfmoon has produced in a long time. My studies in the Hall of the Lost Temple showed me that. I have no way to measure my powers against those on surface, so I will take your word for it. I won't say I'm not proud of my knowledge and abilities, and I won't say I'm not proud of how much control and mastery over my powers I have achieved over the years."

"Yeah. Fair." She was proud of her own skills. Why shouldn't Lyra be proud of hers?

Catra let her hands slowly reach out. One slid around her mother, and the other reached up to pet Melog's head. Their purr rumbled louder, and she felt their satisfaction and comfort from the touch resonate between them in a place in her mind she'd never noticed before - a place now alive and bright with the presence of her new friend.

She felt their happiness to be free from the between of the statue, unbearably sad they might the last of their kind.

Krytian. The word appeared in her thoughts, clear as day. But she also felt their insistence she get the answers about the RuneStone - they would help her find the questions.

She could also feel - through Melog - the relief and joy and contentment Lyra had at Catra's casual affection.

"Connection is different. Connection is when a princess - almost always the heir - creates, or, I suppose, is given, a connection to the RuneStone. They can access a small fraction of its power, and that is usually when unique magical gifts appear. Usually, a princess connects to the Stone when they are a teenager, mostly because they are old enough to understand what's happening, why it's happening, and have learned at least rudimentary control over their own magic."

Catra's hiss of frustration echoed through the chamber and she could hear Melog's laughter in her mind. They were very amused. "So…that's what I did? I'm connected to it now? I'm going to develop new magical powers?"

Lyra shrugged. "Yes."

That had not been the plan. She really didn't want anything to do with the RuneStone, much less be connected to it. She knew she needed to be, eventually. She knew she needed magic and power and skill and to prove herself the right choice for Princess and not a frightened failure, especially if she wanted to save Adora, but she'd thought she would have more time.

The stupid glowy fire rock had taken that choice away from her. This might be easier, though. Not waiting and worrying and being afraid. It was done and now Catra could get on with learning to deal with it and learning to deal with magic.

"Fun." Catra wanted to rub the bridge of her nose, but her hands were occupied. Melog helped by poking her nose with theirs. "What do I get?"

Melog bumped her again, and she felt them in her mind, pushing against her thoughts. Showing her. What she saw was - both frightening and awe inspiring. Her fur stood on end, and if she weren't laying on it, her tail would be thrashing. She had no idea how useful it would be, but she suspected it wouldn't be useless.

"Oh. Never mind. Melog can apparently explain things to me in my brain, but they say to talk about that in a minute. The glowy fire rock seems to think I need to be able to see magic."

Catra, even with her eyes closed, could tell how surprised (maybe even excited?) Lyra was. She was almost certain that came from Melog, not the RuneStone. "Catra - it might be more than just seeing magic. Can you - are you okay with - trying? To see?"

The warm weight of Melog on her shoulder and in her mind anchored her. Her fear of magic was still sharp and cutting and flaying her emotions, but she could push past it.

I have to do this.

Using this power would be the first magic she'd intentionally done - at least, that she could remember.

She should have seen the decision coming. Once she chose to use magic once, she opened a door to using it twice. To making it a part of her, maybe as much a part of her as it was a part of the world she'd found herself in.

But magic - learning to stop fearing it the same way. Learning to fight it. To use it. That was part of her path back to Adora - she knew they were connected now. The Spirit Ember had shown her that.

Catra nodded slowly, and her head swam less than she expected. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll try."

She knew in her bones - if this went badly, it was going to a lot harder to try again.

"Don't look at the RuneStone, my heart. Look around the room. There is plenty of magic here to see."

That sounded like good advice.

Catra didn't know if she could ever describe the sensation of shifting her vision or of the process she used to do it; it was almost instinctive. She turned her head to face Melog and slowly opened her eyes, squinting at first. A faint pressure built behind her eyes - painless, but there. She figured it would get worse the more she used this particular ability, or she would get used to it.

And the world glowed.

Everything was suffused with soft hues; some colors Catra could name and some were new. Similar to - but not nearly as intense as - what she saw when she 'connected' with the RuneStone. She could see lines of colored light, auras and auroras, shapes around certain things.

It came to her in a flash; whether her own intuition or Melog's guidance didn't matter. Those shapes were similar to the runes sorcerers used to set spells into items or that appeared around their hands when they cast. The runes they used were just glyphs - representations of the shapes of magic. The hand gestures drew the lines and pulled or pushed them into place, wove them together.

And once Catra could start using magic, that could be very helpful to see. But there was something else, teasing the edges of her new vision…

She felt Melog brace her, show her, and it took her breath away; beautiful and terrifying, awesome and horrific at the same time. Overwhelming in the way standing in front of a storm was overwhelming - but slowly, bit by bit, her mind started processing it, taking thing in discrete elements.

"Momma…" Her whisper echoed. "Magic. Right. Energy. Are there - rivers of it? Streams and flows? Pools, I guess?"

Lyra started laughing. Her mother laughed, nearly hysterical. "Oh, now that's not fair! The Spirit Ember is a dumb face! Yes, my heart! There are. Magic flows through the world along what we call ley lines, and there are a lot of things affecting them, creating them. There are many, infinite smaller ones, and deep, roaring rivers of magic no sorcerer dares touch. There are nexus points where they connect and magic pools and gathers, and even more ways magic can gather in a place. I take it you can sense and maybe even use these?"

Catra frowned, concentrating. Melog's guidance, showing her in her mind what to do, how to do it, but keeping her from actually reaching for the magic.

She carefully let her vision shift back to normal, feeling the faint pressure ease. "Yeah. Yeah, I can. I take that's another 'Catra broke the rules' thing?"

"Not really, no. The magical gifts the Spirit Ember grants aren't subject to a lot of rules, but it's always something a princess will need. Yours will make magic easier for you, in a lot of ways. Sorcerers usually have to use arcane formulas and special spells to find and tap ley lines. Most of the time, we don't bother, because most sorcerers can't channel that much energy. It's a dangerous thing to do, my heart - for most of it. I wouldn't be surprised if you are more able to do so. Now isn't the time to get into the magical theory of it all, but I am a little jealous - and very proud. And it is proof you are meant to be the Princess of Halmoon, Catra. The RuneStone reached out to you. That wouldn’t have happened otherwise."

"Huh." Catra let herself relax some. Not as bad as she thought; it was insight into magic. How it worked. What it did, and maybe even what a sorcerer was doing, or going to do. That was useful.

A way to understand and even fight magic. The glowy fire rock was still a dumb face, but - it knew what it was doing.

"So, what does ours do?" Catra figured she didn't have as long as she wanted before they had to leave - there wasn't going to be time to curl up and nap. Halfmoon needed the Queen - and maybe the Princess could help a little, too? "You said the glowy rocks do different things?"

Lyra laughed at Catra's refusal to say 'RuneStone,' but she didn't push. "It is an elemental RuneStone, attuned to fire. It also deals with magic relating to the spirit - or nature of things. Soul magic isn't something most sorcerers play with, even us, the RuneStone can do it. But mostly, it shows us connections between things, paths through, and ways things are linked."

"Nothing like a clear cut, simple answer," Catra sighed. "I don't want to know what soul magic is yet. I'll find out later and be horrified then. That's - a lot to think about, it makes sense with what it showed me, I guess. I think? Magic is confusing."

"I wish I could disagree. Magic is primal power harnessed through will and intent; it's an attempt to understand the universe using crude symbols, arcane science, and eldritch math, but we don't so much make sense of it as much as we do force ourselves to find ways to make sense of what we do with it. Magic is complicated, frighteningly complex, and sometimes, horrifically simple. It can be sublime and it can be overwhelming. It is tool, it is a craft, it is an art, and for some, it is a spiritual calling. It is a path to power, but it can also be a path to wisdom."

Catra groaned again. "The glowy fire rock didn't give me a headache, but trying to figure out magic just might."

Lyra didn't laugh, but Catra heard the smile in her voice. "You sound like your father, but you will need to learn at least a little magic - a single spell for your Coronation and enough to use what the Spirit Ember gave you. You have the talent for sorcery, but I don't expect you to follow that path. Or want you to, if it isn't what you want."

Catra fell silent. On one hand, she hated and still deeply feared magic despite finding a path through her fear. On the other hand, she knew she wanted to face down Shadow Weaver someday.

That might be easier with magic.

"Won't know if I don't try. I don't want fear to control me again. Not like tonight. Learning about magic sounds like a way to learn to deal with it."

Maybe a good way. Maybe not. Catra planned to find out, though.

"Then you shall be taught. But. My heart? If tonight is what you call being 'controlled' by fear, then your metric for that is as skewed as our metric for self-preservation. Your fear didn't stop you from doing what you needed it to do."

"It almost - I - I almost lost you because of it. It - it convinced me you would send me away…"

Lyra rolled onto her side and pressed her forehead to Catra's. "Never. Never, Catra. That will never happen. I could not make myself do it. You have done more than face your fear, you have done more than fight it. It did not control you. Influence you? Yes. But you are stronger than you fear. You have shown that over and over again tonight."

Melog growled agreement, poking her cheek with their nose. Catra nodded slowly. "I think part of me knows you're both right, but I don't know how to believe it yet?"

"Then, we will have to repeat it, over and over again, until you believe it, won't we, Melog?" Lyra reached across to pet them, and they pushed their head into her hand. "Now, tell me about your new friend. We are both going to have to explain them to - people."

"You mean the Royal Council. Who I need to have words with about telling you what you can't tell me. Among other things. If I'm going to be princess, they need to get used to listening to me."

Lyra nodded. 'Agreed. We'll set it up, and you and I will plan for it."

"Good." Catra relaxed a little. She had been worried about asking to address them, but she was also absolutely certain it had to happen. They thought they had more control over her life than they actually did, and they needed to hear that from her. "As for Melog…"

She blinked; Melog simply deposited information in her mind, neatly filed, as if she'd always known it. As if the knowledge had already been hers. That was a neat trick.

"They are - connected to me? Sharing emotions and thoughts? They can feel other emotions, too - yours. They are a Krytian - a people who once fought a space version of the Horde."

That was a terrible thought - somewhere in the vaster universe Lyra had told her about, there was a bigger, more dangerous version of the Horde. An empire out to conquer, assimilate, and destroy everything in their path. She wasn't going to think on it too much, because Melog indicated that Horde couldn't get to Etheria or Eternia. Somehow.

Maybe it has to do with whatever She-Ra did?

"They defeated the Horde on their own world, but they became refugees. Only, they need magic. They feed on it. Need it to survive, and magic was becoming more and more scarce in the universe. They were dying out from a lack of it." Catra was getting more confident in telling Melog's story as they smoothed out the information, pointing out the important parts to Catra. "The First Ones took them in, brought the few survivors to Etheria, where something dark and terrible happened. It trapped them in those statues, between worlds - whatever that means? Something about what I did tonight, when I connected to the glowy fire rock, helped them break free. Neither of us really understand what."

Melog grumbled their assent, agreeing with Catra's summation. "They might be the last of their kind, but they and I are linked now. We - support each other. Protect each other. Anchor each other?"

Again, Melog growled - and Catra noticed a spectral, echoing quality to their vocalizations. Their grey-blue fur and glowing blue mane; they were definitely a magical being, and Catra got the impression Melog had chosen a form Catra would understand and that matched their statue.

It worked - and they felt comfortable and happy in the form, as if it fit their personality and spirit. They were happy with it, excited to live in their chosen form. Excited to explore Halfmoon with Catra.

"We're a set now. You get both of us, not one of us." If she'd been asked yesterday, the only person she figured could ever be that close to her would be Adora, but now the thought of not having Melog was terrifying. She knew them and trusted them, because they were showing her their mind, and they could see hers.

The connection had been forged through magic neither of them had initiated, they both felt lucky they had found each other. Melog's warm weight in her thoughts already grounded her more than anything other than Adora ever had.

Lyra sighed. "Well, if they aren't dangerous to you - "

"They're not. They're the least dangerous thing to me I've encountered in Halfmoon."

" - and you are linked, we will explain it to the council as a RuneStone magic, and they will have to accept it. It appears they and their people as much victims of the First Ones as Etheria is."

Catra shrugged. It had the virtue of being true, at least. She wasn't planning to argue with the Council about Melog, though. No matter what they thought.

"As much I am enjoying the cuddle pile, I really do want to get out of the glowy fire rock's personal space before it gets touchy-feely again. We have the entire walk back to explain Melog to Askar, and then I can go sleep."

After drinking her weight in water, probably.

Lyra grimaced. "Maybe not, my heart? You cannot go back to your rooms. They are compromised, and my room is - a bit burnt. We will have to find places to sleep. Easier for you, because you will need to see Lenio as soon as we get back."

"On second thought," Catra gripped Melog a little tighter at the thought of going back into the infirmary, "I can try to nap right here."

Chapter Text

The Residential Wing

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Catra perched on a bench in the hallway and watched with bewildered confusion and trepidation (and a tiny bit of frustration) as porters carried things into her new rooms. (Rooms. Plural. What was wrong with Princess people? A person needed a room. Not rooms!)

Catra had sent Melog to watch. She wasn't comfortable with anyone messing with her things. She didn't need much, but what she had mattered to her. Thus far, Melog hadn't told her much, but her consternation amused them.

"Confused by the process of moving rooms, highness?" Akrash hobbled over and sat next to her with a groan. "It's quite simple, really."

Her new magical senses tingled; she could see a faint outline around him; the faint blue-white shimmer of his magic. All magicats had some faint magic, but sorcerers like her mother and Akrash burned brightly.

Catra's tail whipped, almost hitting Akrash in the back of the head. "I'm confused. What, exactly, are they moving? Multiple people have made multiple trips into my new rooms," she rolled her eyes, "and I don't have enough stuff for one person to make more than one trip. What is all the stuff and why is it going into my rooms? Why do I have rooms? It's stupid. Why are you here, bothering me? Shouldn't you be laying about, recovering from getting poked by a knife? Or watching them move your stuff?"

Akrash's stab wound had been rather serious. Dr. Lenio had kept him from bleeding out after removing the knife, but fixing him had taken a lot of magic and several hours of surgery. Askar had deliberately not told Lyra or Catra his soldiers had carried Akrash to the infirmary right after Catra had defeated the Baron.

Catra had also spent the night in the infirmary. She'd been more injured than she'd thought, but less than she could have been. Massive soft tissue damage to her knee and torn tendons in her shoulder. She'd also been covered in bruises. Lyra and Melog together almost couldn't convince her to drink her potions. Lenio's threat of sedating her and hooking her up to an IV again had finally forced her to surrender.

She shivered at the thought of willingly ingesting magic. Especially because she could sense it now; she could see the magic in the potions and somehow taste the flavor of the power imbued in it. They tasted abominable and she hated the feeling of her body rapid healing after taking them.

She needed to train more. Get good enough she didn't need potions.

"Shush, highness, or I will be forced to report you to Dr. Lenio for being up and out of bed."

Catra shrugged. It wasn't like they weren't both escapees from the infirmary. Akrash and Catra had both been told: move little, do less, and rest. Often. Neither of them followed the letter or the spirit of those instructions.

"And I will have you know, I am patiently and politely waiting my turn. I am much lower on the 'brand new room' list than you and the Queen. Then Princess Kittrina and Aster. Then me. Maybe. I told them I could use magic to do it myself, but your mother's Seneschal chased me out with a look. He's the most terrifying fusspot in Halfmoon."

Catra frowned. From what she'd heard, Akrash wasn't wrong. She hadn't actually met Percival yet. She knew her mother adored him. As far as she could tell, Percival was avoiding her. Actively. Which didn't bode well for their future working relationship.

Percival's supervision of the current room shuffle worried her.

Moving rooms was necessary. Between the damage to the Royal Suite, the Princess' Hall where Kittrina and Aster had made their stand, and how easily Catra's room had been breached, Askar's insistence they all move made sense. Kittrina and Aster were moving to the Royal section of the residential wing, and Lyra had ordered Akrash moved from the Hall of the Lost Temple to the castle.

Lyra had chosen to move back to her old Princess suite, reducing the size of her room and putting her next to her private study. Catra was being 'installed' directly across the hall from her mother's room and study.

Another porter walked by, this time pushing a cart full of - something - right into her new rooms.

Catra unabashedly reached out for Melog. She didn't get a clear idea of what was happening or what her new rooms looked like, just Melog's smug amusement. Because they liked the new rooms.

Sighing, Catra withdrew to her own mind, and saw Akrash staring sourly down the hall. Catra immediately understood his dismay. Her mother (who had come through the entire coup without a scratch), Askar, and Dr. Lenio were walking towards them.

Lenio pushed two wheelchairs ahead of him.

Lenio's faintly yellow and gold aura felt like a purifying, cleansing light. Lines of dark red flame wrapped Lyra, even without her shifting her vision. Flickers of fire threatening to spark and ignite into a blaze without her mother's iron control. The Queen's magic made the air around her shimmer with illusory heat and smelled like hot stone and clean ash. And Catra could always see the twining, twisting lines of fire linking her back to the Spirit Ember.

"You know, Princess, I think we're in trouble." Akrash's ears twitched and he lifted his hand. "One quick spell. No more chairs. Good plan?"

"Not terrible. You'd have to get the spell past my mother and Lenio, though. Are you sure you're that good?"

Akrash slumped. "Don't be smug. You have to use one of those, too."

"Oh. I know." Catra scowled. "We both do. So we race through the castle or swear never to speak of this day again."

"Deal."

Lenio cleared his throat and gestured to the chairs. "My two stubborn fugitives. Together again. How unsurprising. Have a seat. Then we go see Catra's new rooms."

Catra and Akrash stared at each other, waiting for the other to go first.

"Children." Lyra grumbled, shaking her head. "You two act like children." She held her hands out to Catra. "Humor me, my heart? Please?"

Catra saw genuine worry in her mother's amber eyes, and let her Lyra tug her to her feet and help her into the wheelchair. She tried not to pout. Or look petulant. Or show how much her knee really did hurt. Lyra took her staff, and using a whispered spell, stuck it to her own back.

Catra suppressed a shiver as the magic brushed against her - another new sensation from her new magic sense. Delightful.

Akrash shrugged and sat down in the other chair. "Fine. I know when I'm beat. Besides, if I don't, she'll probably chase me through the halls."

Catra flicked an ear and stuck her tongue out at him. The thought had crossed her mind.

Akrash threw up his hands. "See?! Chase me and I'll turn you into a squirrel."

Catra deliberately ignored him.

Lyra ran her fingers through Catra's hair. "I know you hate it, but you need to take care of yourself. I feel guilty enough about taking you to the Ember as it is."

Catra let out a slow breath. "I chose to. It was the right thing. A good thing. I'm more upset about having rooms than I am the chair. One room is fine."

Everyone would know she and Melog had rooms! People thinking she thought she deserved - had earned - that much space? Especially when space was so limited?! It was mortifying.

Lyra pressed her forehead to the crown of Catra's head. "You are impossible to spoil, did you know?"

Catra mewled in protest. "You're giving me new armor! And the coat. I'm spoiled! I swear!"

So much space for just her was extravagant. Unnecessary. She had shared a tiny bunk with Adora; everything they owned was shared, every space shared. She didn't want more empty space. She wanted Adora.

She vaguely heard Akrash laughing at something Lenio said, remembering Akrash had known Lenio as a child. She was glad he was reconnecting with at least one person from his past.

Her door was an elegant heavy wood monstrosity inlaid with copper, propped open so staff could come and go. At least it wasn't a grandiose double door like her mother's.

Catra still didn't know what they were all doing. Or why there were so many of them. She didn't have things. She didn't need things. Clothes. Weapons. Trophies. Other field gear when she found out how to get it.

The first room was an open, inviting space. Low tables, chairs and cushions created a comfortable place for people to sit and talk. There was a cabinet with glassware, and drawers she suspected hid plates and silverware. She suspected the cabinet also stored bottles of liquor.

The bookshelves were being filled - though sparsely - by staff. Small decorations were being placed on tables and hung on the walls. The smaller tables had drawers, and an open door led to a bathroom, where she presumed there was a linen closet.

There was a large, fluffy cushion off to one side for Melog - and from the contented buzz in her mind, it wasn't the only one. They were very happy there were places for them in most rooms.

Catra had to acknowledge Percival's planning. Melog had only been with her two days, and the Seneschal considered them in his plans. The Seneschal didn't like her, but he did his job really well.

Maybe they could find a way to work together, after all.

(Everyone who knew about Melog took them in stride - as if the Spirit Ember somehow producing a 'spirit guardian' wasn't unusual, unexpected, or concerning. Catra wasn't concerned, because she could sense Melog's thoughts. Why wasn't anyone else concerned?)

Lyra waved everyone towards the seating. "I will show Catra the rest, then join you. The rest of you wait here."

Akrash rolled his chair into a gap. "Good luck convincing her she needs more than one room!"

"I'm the Queen," Lyra poked Akrash in the back of her head with her tail. "I'm in charge. She has to convince me to change my mind."

Catra groaned. "There are closets in this castle big enough to be enough room for me!"

"And yet," Lyra set Catra's staff up against a wall, "you deserve more."

Catra huffed. How could she argue with that logic? If she tried, she would end up talking herself into a bigger suite.

Lyra wheeled her down a hall where a servant rapidly stocked another two storage closets, past the door to a large office (or study, she supposed. Which also had a closet. And cabinets. What was with all the closets? What was she supposed to fill them with?) It also had a desk. A table. More bookshelves. Chairs. A small couch.

What did she need the study for? She had an office in the castle - which she hadn't really wanted!

Melog laughed in the back of her mind.

They rolled past a bedroom - which Catra assumed was hers, only to have Lyra shake her head. (It had a wardrobe, a closet, nightstand, shelves, cabinets. Why?) "For guests. Yours is deeper in."

Catra's eyes widened. Deeper in? How many rooms did she have? They passed by what Catra belatedly realized was a kitchenette - complete with a small stove and oven, even a refrigerator and freezer. And, presumably storage for food. And a nook with a table and chairs - more shelves and more cabinets. For eating food from the kitchenette no doubt.

This is beyond ridiculous!

Through the last doors - which were double doors - and into her bedroom. The largest room yet, dominated by a huge dark red wood bed - with a double-thick mattress. Luckily, it was higher off the floor than her old one. She could still sleep under it - no matter how much Melog mentally rolled their eyes.

It had a roof. The bed had its own ceiling - and curtains. Why would she ever need curtains on her bed?

(At least there were no windows in this bedroom.)

There was another bed for Melog next to another desk at least as large as the one in the 'study.' A dresser and vanity. Mirrors. An armchair with a table. A stool. A rolling stool for the desk. Cabinets and shelves built into the walls. Nightstands. All in that beautiful gold-streaked dark red wood. There was a walk in closet bigger than her old bathroom and a gargantuan bathroom as large as her previous bedroom!

(Her vanity mirror had a curtain over it, but that didn't bother her. She recognized that curtain - it was the Baron's cloak. She could live with that.)

"Uhh…what?" Catra looked around in shock. "Maybe, um, something smaller? Bigger than a closet but less than whatever all this is?"

She could compromise! She could! How could anyone justify her having so much space? Her mother needed the room to be Queen. Akrash was a sorcerer - who knew what he needed space for. Kittrina and Aster were married and had a kitten on the way. Obviously, they needed more room. (And Aster was another sorcerer.) She was just her!

Melog pushed into her thoughts, admonishing. She was not 'just' anything - and she may not understand why, but it was hers, and she should be grateful. They liked the space after being trapped for so long - more time than they could easily comprehend.

"No." Lyra tugged at Catra's hair. "Get used to it. You're a Princess. It's expected."

"Why is it 'expected' one person, even a Princess, needs this many rooms?!" Catra threw up her arms in frustration, studiously ignoring Melog's attempts to calm her. This was unreasonable - it was too much!

"It's strange to me?" Lyra wheeled Catra over and sat on a stool, facing her daughter. "I feared the responsibility of being a princess. Leading. I was raised to it, but terrified of failing. I expected to guide you through things like Dr. Arashu's audience, not rein in your desire to fight the Horde. But you are wiser than I knew, and your combat skills saved us all. Yet, it's the trappings - the ostentation - of being a Princess upsetting you more than anything but magic. Why?"

Catra drew her good leg up to her chest. How to explain this to someone who'd always had so much they didn't think about it?

"Resources are limited in the Horde. People get what they earn, based on what they need. But outside Hordak and Shadow Weaver, no one gets rooms like this. Force Commanders, even Generals, get single rooms. Force Captains sometimes get their own rooms - smaller than closets I've seen here. Here, we live underground, with limited resources, limited space, and get so much. You're the Queen. You might need the room. Akrash is a sorcerer and needs room for magic stuff. Okay. Me getting this much - space I won't use - is a waste! I don't do anything to need it! Other people might need it! It's excessive and it's embarrassing!"

Lyra blinked. Catra could tell from her expression, she had not expected that answer.

"You're not wrong, but you're also not right. If our people find out you live in a closet-sized room, no matter how comfortable you are, they will see it as me slighting you. Being unfair, cruel. A bad mother and a bad queen. They expect a Princess to have more. We are given more because more is expected of us. Everything we do, every risk we face, is for our people, my heart. In return, our people give us much."

The Queen paused, and Catra could see her struggling. Melog nudged her mind again, showing her Lyra searching for a way to explain a concept she had simply existed in.

"Nobles are expected to serve Halfmoon first and themselves second. They look to us to lead, yes. But also to administer. Civic matters. Roads, schools, buildings. Healthcare. Food distribution. Emergencies. Diplomacy. As a Princess, you will have a lot of duties. Some you will choose for yourself, some will be given to you. Where I have a Royal Council, you will have an Advisory Council. In your office, in these rooms, you will have records, plans, information, tools. You'll have meetings with people. Someday, we may have diplomatic envoys from other nations and you may need a place to speak with them. You may not need the space right now, but in a year, you might need more."

Lyra rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I fear I am not explaining this well at all."

Catra looked around the room, bewildered by the sheer size of it. "I get all that. Not the 'people will think you're being a bad mother' thing. It's dumb, but okay. Fine. Easy. When I need more, I get more. I get you're preparing and planning ahead, but I'd rather make do with less than take more than I need. You're talking about me - us - being entitled to large spaces to do the jobs given to us. It almost makes sense. Why does it mean having so much?"

Catra ignored the comment about having her own Council for now. That was a 'future Catra' problem and while future Catra wouldn't thank her for it, it was more than she could deal with right then.

She had business with her mother's council first, anyway.

Lyra looked about ready to answer, but they were interrupted by the sounds of someone hanging clothes in the walk-in closet. Catra looked over and saw the giant closet open. Inside, an older man was hanging lot more clothes than Catra remembered having.

How had she missed that? The older man had to be exceptionally good at being sneaky and quiet!

She bit back a growl. Why more clothes? Who had picked them out? Didn't she get a say in her own clothes?

Lyra smiled. "Come on out, Percival. You can't avoid this forever and you've dithered long enough."

Catra felt another jolt of fear and frustration. Percival - the Seneschal who had been avoiding her for two months - overheard them? And her mother had known?

The man gasped and almost dropped some of the clothes. She heard a sniff and saw his shoulders tense.

Here we go. This is going to be awkward.

Lyra leaned close, whispering. "Be gentle with him, my heart. He's missed you almost as much as I have. And he is the best one to explain. Please trust?"

She would be nice. For her mother. Fine. She'd say something about the eavesdropping, though.

Melog warmly growled comfort and assurance in the back of her mind, reassuring her Lyra had a plan.

Percival slowly turned, and Catra saw tears rolling down his cheeks, clinging to his fur and whiskers. He wrung his hands and looked between Lyra and Catra before wiping his eyes. His mouth worked, but no sounds came out.

The older magicat was as elegant and refined as anyone she'd ever met - he even had markings like a mustache! His clothes were immaculate and elegant formal finery and he carried himself with dignity.

"I…I…" He slowly bowed, deeply. Rising, he sniffled again. "My lady. I…I am so grateful you are…"

His words stopped as he cleared his throat.

"I thought you were avoiding me because you hated me or something." Catra tried to smile, tried to make it a joke, but it fell flat.

Percival shook his head and walked with purpose to stand right in front of her. "Never. I could never - C'y - Catra! You do not remember me, I am sure. But I remember you. I - you were such a - they took you from us all, my lady, but those of us who were there from the day your mother brought you home until the day those villains took you from us…we, I - have never stopped grieving. Never stopped hoping. And now, you are here. I could not," he swallowed hard. "I feared I could not see you without blubbering like an old fool. Cloudfoot - my husband - has scolded me for hiding and told me much of you, but I could not…"

A thousand thoughts crashed in at once. Had Cloudfoot known her as a child? Percival was Cloudfoot's husband?

Melog mentally nudged her.

Catra wasn't always good with affection. She wasn't good with emotion. But there was something in Percival's eyes, in his expression tugging at her in ways she wasn't used to.

She gingerly stood, and, bracing herself, let the old Seneschal hug her. She felt Melog's support and reassurance. It wasn't the same as her mother's hugs, but it wasn't frightening. He was gentle and he didn't hold on too long.

His scent. She remembered his scent - the smell of dust and oil and - apples? A flicker of memory tugged at her, of standing in a brightly lit bedroom, arguing loudly with someone who smelled like him.

Of demanding to not be made to go to bed?

She shook her head. She'd had flashes of memory like off and on since waking up in the infirmary, and Lenio kept telling her it was normal. Expected. She had been very young when she'd been taken, but there would be things sparking memories for a long time.

"I am happy to answer your questions, my lady. I only beg for a moment to compose myself."

"Yeah, take a minute. Also, my name is Catra."

Percival daubed at his eyes with a handkerchief he'd produced seemingly out of nowhere.

"I appreciate that courtesy, highness. I may someday use your name, but I have known your mother since she was a kitten, and rarely use hers. Propriety may not be of great import to you, but it is to me. Now, why so much, you ask? Because people can be told a thing, but it is often not enough. They want to see their leaders, their government have the ability to do as they need. They see their Queen. They see their Princess. They see their Ministers and Councilors and everyone else working here, in this castle. An impregnable fortress where the foundations of and resources for their world are kept protected for them. They see their Queen with fancy clothes, they hear their Princess has a suite of rooms, and they know Halfmoon has the resources, the ability, to organize, feed, protect, and guide our people. If their Princess, charged with their defense, seen defeating usurpers before her very home, lives in a room the size of a closet, then what guarantee do they have their work will amount to anything but the same? People want to see their leaders proud, successful, presented as not facing day to day conundrums but facing the problems of a nation. You, my lady, and your mother, are symbols of Halfmoon's prosperity and security. You may not like it, but you do not have to. You must, however, accept it - to a point."

Catra sighed. It made more sense than other reasons. The show leaders put on for their people. She'd watched Adora do it a thousand times - but on a brave face and rally them one more time, when she was exhausted and just wanted to curl up under blankets and be held.

(Catra didn't let herself think about the times she'd been too mad and refused to hold her and Adora had cried alone. She wanted - more than anything - to hold her now.)

Percival made his handkerchief vanish. "Now, tell me, highness. Aside from the size - what, precisely - bothers you about these rooms? There is much we can do to make them more what you want, more what you believe you will need."

Lyra touched her shoulder. "Sit, my heart. And be honest. You won't hurt his feelings. This suite was my idea. His job is to make this work for you. Please, try. For me. If you truly hate it in a few months, we will find you something smaller."

Catra sighed and reluctantly sat back in the wheelchair. "Fine. Let's do this, then. Why do I need so many rooms? A desk here? A desk in the office. An office in the castle? How many desks do I need?"

"At least two." Percival pulled out a small tablet and stylus. "One that is yours and one where you do official things, take meetings, and are seen doing the work of Halfmoon. One will matter to you. The other may not. But if you do not want an office here, I could do as I once did for your father and re-purpose it to a small practice room?"

Catra actually liked that idea. "Better than yet another office; I'll actually use a private salle. I can use the desk in here if I really need one."

"Very good," Percival noted it down. "It will take a few days, but it will be done. You will have to allow workers into your rooms to do this. Do you need to be here for it?"

Catra scowled. "I don't know! I don't know where any of my things are! Or why I need so many bloody rooms!"

Percival tapped his small tablet. "We never did explain, did we? Things moved from your old room are all in here. The guest room is for those guests you wish close to you. Friends. Family. Or merely a place for a friend to sleep when they need sanctuary. You may not see a use for it now, but you may in the future. This place is for you, designed to have all you need. Your sanctuary and as your responsibilities and duties increase, so will what you need. It is also the smallest suite of rooms close to your mother's rooms, and can be given to a Princess's closest friend or relative to allow her to have that person close."

Being close to her mother was important. She'd been too far away during the coup.

"I don't get it, but whatever. I'll figure it out. Just - what's with all the clothes? I didn't ask for them and I might be more, erm, particular, about what I wear than you want me to be."

Percival sighed. "Yes, your mother did warn me not to stock your wardrobe. However, you have yet to sit for a fitting, much less discuss your preferences. Much like your rooms, where your needs will grow to fill the space, you need more than three outfits and a single set of sleepwear. My lady, the clothes there are for now - the best guesses I could make with input from Cloudfoot. Wear them or not, as you will. But if you want a say, you must allow castle staff to assist you. It is their job. And, highness, they are good at their jobs. Sit with me, or another steward, and you can have clothes you like. Until then, what you have is available to you as you need it."

"Fair." Catra had been avoiding sitting with the stewards to outfit her. Cloudfoot had nagged her, but she hadn't really wanted to. It felt like a waste of time, but she hadn't realized they would just assign her a wardrobe. She would need to go through it all. And find something to do with the clothes other than leave them sitting in her closet. "But if there is a dress or gown in there, it's a waste."

Percival's eyes twitched. In anyone else, it might have been an eye roll. "Very well. I will have those returned to the tailor to be repurposed. I will respect your wish resources not go to waste."

"Thanks. I actually do appreciate that." Catra shrugged. "I guess I'll have to figure out when to meet with one of you. So, why is everyone waiting in my other room?"

"Everyone is in your sitting room," Lyra grinned, "because once Cloudfoot arrives, we are going to get the final report on the coup."

'Sitting room?' Catra mouthed. Melog all but snickered. Her mother stood and turned her about. (Catra hated her shoulder injury probably kept her from wheeling herself. It wasn't fair!) "Why my room?"

Lyra smirked. "Everyone will see you have appropriate rooms and stop fretting about me giving in to your earlier demands, because I put you in staff housing. So I can make sure you rest when we're done, my heart. You are enough like me I know you will want to find something to do."

(Another argument against fighting the new rooms; her mother had apparently gotten comments about Catra's room preferences and she had taken a room meant for castle staff. Hopefully, without displacing someone!)

"Hey!" Catra looked up at her. "I can sleep in your study." Her voice dropped, remembering Percival was there. "I like sleeping there."

"I know. And you can, if you want. You do need to rest, and - I wanted to show you your rooms, have the meeting, and give everyone some time to rest. Let Askar go dote on Kittrina and let Cloudfoot go hide in the library. This was easiest."

Catra curled her tail around her mother's wrist. "You're trying to get everyone to rest, not just me. So no offices. Everyone is already in the residential wing. Sneaky."

"I can be, yes." She grinned. "Just like you, when you want to be. Come along, Perce. You can finish her clothes when you've let her actually choose her wardrobe. Like I told you to."

Percival laughed as he bowed. "A quite tactful 'I told you so,' majesty, at least for you. Impressive."

"Thank you, Percival. I do try to ensure my pettiness is refined enough for you."

"Hmm. Perhaps one day, majesty. Not today, alas, but perhaps eventually."

Catra rolled her eyes. Her mother and her advisers were just as bad about trash talking each other as her old squad. They were just politer. (Barely.)

Percival leaned down a bit. "My lady. My apologies for overhearing your earlier conversation. Your mother obviously schemed to force me to meet you. But there are times, highness, you will want to be overheard. I am sure the servants heard you too, which is no bad thing. They will tell others their Princess does not see herself as above her people. That their Princess wants what she needs and no more. They will know what we know: Halfmoon will be well served by their Princess, and the small girl I have missed so has grown into a young lady of rare character, strength of will, and willingness to stand for her people."

Catra tried (and failed) to not sniffle. Melog's mental nuzzle helped her embarrassment a little. She opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't have any words.

Percival shook his head at her. "And other times, my lady, silence is as good an answer as can be given."

Catra's Rooms

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Lyra rolled Catra back into the sitting room, Percival shuffling behind them. Dr. Lenio looked to be dozing, and Askar sat cross legged on the floor, his back straight and his posture as rigid as ever while Cloudfoot set out food and drink.

"Percy! There you are! I see you finally got cornered and talked to her. Good! Now you can stop ducking about."

Percival huffed. "Oh, don't be smug, Cloud. It's unbecoming. But yes, her majesty executed a marvelous trap and I embarrassed myself quite thoroughly."

Catra saw Cloudfoot discreetly give Percival a side hug as the Seneschal went to help him with the food. He and Cloudfoot didn't sit until Lyra ordered them to and started making a plate of food for herself.

(Catra saw how close they sat. How they shared food off their plates. How Cloudfoot kept touching the back of Percival's neck. How Percival leaned against Cloudfoot. How their tails intertwined. It made her happy to see, but also unaccountably sad.)

Catra contented herself with a bottle of her fruit juice. Unless it was just Lyra, she wasn't comfortable eating in front of people. Lyra met her eyes and frowned. As she made herself a plate, she made one for Catra, too. Finger foods she knew Catra liked.

"Eat, my heart."

Catra made a face at her mother, and then at her plate. "I'm fine. I can eat later."

Dr. Lenio cleared his throat. "Intravenous nutrition is still an option. Don't test me. And if anyone judges you, they'll answer to me and my vaccine schedule."

Catra stared down at her hands. Why was food so complicated? Lenio knew she often made a mess when she ate. Why did he have to say it, though? And what if something she ate didn't sit right (again?)

Askar grunted. "I take it you are not yet comfortable eating more than ration bars?"

Catra set her plate aside. "Yeah. Still learning. Never sure what foods are going to be okay or not."

A polite way of saying Catra had spent more than one day sick and miserable from something she ate. Or because her system wasn't sure what to do with nutrients and hydration and rebelled.

The General nodded. "I've tried those damn things. Stuff we've captured. They're foul abominations against food, but they do their job. Short-term, anyway. The Guard and the Scouts have a supply for emergencies. If you want, I can arrange for some to find their way to you."

Fighting both shame and gratitude, Catra just nodded. She looked up in time to see Percival frowning and looking at Lenio. "Surely, we can find a more appetizing option?"

Lenio grumbled. "Give over, Perce. Girl's been raised on those appalling things. Her system is going to take months more to adapt. As long as I can make sure they're safe, her having nutrition she can fall back on is a good idea, medically."

Percival turned to Catra, reluctance making him stiffer than normal. "I can make sure they are in your pantry, highness, if that's what you want. Please - I don't judge. I truly don't. I just…I want you to have things you like, that you enjoy eating, and not food you must force yourself to eat."

She didn't tell him that was most food, most of the time.

Melog's cool, steady presence filled her mind. She let herself nod. "Ration bars taste like crap. We always knew that. But I can keep them down. So yeah. Thanks. But - were there things I liked to eat as a kid?"

Percival smiled. "When you come and discuss your clothes, I will have some of your old favorites for you."

Catra nodded. They were getting off track, and while it wasn't her fault, it was about her.
"Yeah. Sure. We can do that." She actually didn't mind the idea, but she had a lot of sudden emotions about it. Emotions she didn't want with a room full of people. "So." She picked at a couple of sausage rolls. "What did we learn?"

Catra had been an aide during some staff briefings in the Horde - always with Adora there to 'make sure she behaved.' This was nothing like that. There was a lot of back and forth. A lot of discussion.

It didn't take long to get the gist of things. Someone had panicked and set the coup off early. Very early. There had been a bunch of Horde soldiers - all Crimson Waste hybrids - and Subtherian mercenaries snuck into the city over a period of several days, while magicats loyal to the dr'Ardeth rebellion had agitated the population.

The prisoners had talked under truth spell (after being cleansed of a number of nasty and lethal spells) revealing the entire plot had been rushed.

(Catra also learned the prisoners had been returned to the Horde by being left in Horde controlled tunnels. Halfmoon had little interest in holding prisoners of war.)

The only people remotely ready had been the assassins themselves. The agitators had tried to set off a riot in the city at the same time the assassins went for the royal family. Only, not enough people joined their side and the City Watch were efficient. They'd managed to set buildings on fire in the downtown square near the castle and on the outskirts, but most of the Horde troops and mercenaries had been taken down before reaching the castle itself - by citizens as much as the City Watch. (Off duty Guards and soldiers, retired soldiers, sorcerers, and others had rallied people to them and fought back.)

The Guard had been trapped, but Askar's troops had returned from the front lines early - called back by Lyra after Catra arrived. The rushed timing had been to avoid Askar's scheduled return.

Askar grumbled about it. "They planned this for years from now, but when Catra showed up and we didn't kill her, someone on their side panicked. We don't think it was the Horde - we think it was the Baron."

"I would like to know who the Baron was." Catra looked at her plate dubiously. She was little hungry, but didn't trust her stomach. "Knowing who was currently in charge of the people trying to take over would have been nice."

"Oh, we would have told you, had we known he still lived," Cloudfoot took a bite from a large roll. "He was the eldest son of a noble house loyal to the dr'Adeths back during the original coup, primarily used as an enforcer. Known as Zahir, then. A skilled warrior, to be sure. One of their best. We thought him killed during the original coup. Where's he been all these years is a mystery, but we suspect the surface. We think he worked with the Horde up there, but there's no way to prove it."

Askar nodded. "Sadly, the prisoners didn't know much. They were sent into the city last minute and hidden for a day or two before the attack. The traitors didn't have time to build a true fifth column, despite their inside man trapping the Guard." Askar shook his head. "From what we've gathered, he was a sorcerer and went for the Queen himself."

Lyra nodded, discreetly adding another small pastry to Catra's plate from her own. "The one who attacked me first - disguised as castle staff - was a sorcerer. He died first. If I'd been less worried about finishing them and getting to Catra, I might have thought to save him. Apologies, Aksar."

Catra blinked. She hadn't even considered her mother had been trying to get to her!

The general shrugged. "He was a fool to try you himself. None of those who attacked you survived - between you, Catra, and Akrash, I'm hardly surprised or disappointed."

Catra knew it would take an entire Circle working together to challenge Lyra. A single sorcerer going against her was a tactical error at best.

"Their plan counted on trapping the guard and me still being in the deep tunnels fighting Calix." Askar set his plate on the cart the food had come on. "But we did learn the traitors have a small settlement north of us where they escaped after the first coup. Our understanding is they were secret from the Horde, too. They only know the sorceress Mortella. She was their only contact with the Horde. We can't assume how much the Horde knew of the camp, though."

Catra shivered at the name.

Mortella. Shadow Weaver's favorite apprentice - her love of violence and hunger for power made her easy to manipulate and her lack of self-control kept her from being a threat to Shadow Weaver. She knew Calix by reputation; a cunning rock-man and one of Hordak's favorite military strategists. Adora had been one of the few cadets to be tutored by him.

"The Horde knew." Catra put her plate down. Her appetite was gone. "Shadow Weaver knows whatever Mortella knows. Don't think otherwise. Mortella can't hide things from Shadow Weaver, because Mortella relies on Shadow Weaver letting her use the Black Garnet as a power boost - Shadow Weaver can use the Garnet to read her thoughts. Mortella might have a shard of it with her, if Shadow Weaver is especially happy with her. If these traitors were always aligned with the Horde, though…"

Cloudfoot frowned, but nodded. "We know they were. We have proof. The Horde funded and equipped their first attempts. This Shadow Weaver - she is high in the Horde?"

Catra huffed. "She's Hordak's second in command. Dark sorceress. Hordak lets her use the Black Garnet pretty freely. She's also in charge of training and recruitment, and is involved in most schemes and plans. She's smart. Dangerous. Powerful. Hordak trusts her as much as he trusts anyone." She paused. She hated admitting it, but hiding it wouldn't help . "She was my guardian in the Horde. She sort of raised me. So I know her well. She has plans within plans. She got rid of me - discarded me - because I was in her way, but she also turned that into my trying to kill my own mother. Why waste the potential to assassinate a queen or for the queen to kill her daughter? She's subtle. Scary subtle. You can't assume what you see or what you think you know is right. You found one camp. They failed with one plan. There's more."

Askar scowled. "I don't like the idea there is more than one bastion of those traitors, but Catra was right about the spells on the prisoners. Being raised by Hordak's second gives you rare insight. You think there is more than one camp?"

"Yeah," Catra nodded, shifting uncomfortably. "They have more than one camp. One public camp the Horde knows about. One the traitors think the Horde doesn't, and several satellite training camps only a few people know about. Probably a third major settlement for civilians. Those training camps will serve double duty as entry points for new recruits. Spread out in cells, but all close enough for mutual aid. If they follow the tactics I grew up with."

"What…what do you mean, highness?" Cloudfoot looked confused. And concerned. "The Horde has hardly shown advanced strategy in their conquests."

"Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?" She sucked in a shuddering breath. "It's easy to think of the Horde as mindless. That's what they want you to see. To fear. But the Horde is insidious, and wants to absorb and transform everything it conquers into itself. Every cadet, whether they go into administration or a command squad like mine are taught how. If one single Horde soldier survives behind enemy lines, they can start over from the inside or find their way back to the forces outside."

Akrash cut in. "Okay. Seconding Catra on Shadow Weaver. She's terrifyingly powerful, manipulative, and I'm not sure she feels emotions other than 'smug' and 'hurting people makes me smile.'"

"As disturbing as she is, I'm more worried about the idea the Horde has trained it's soldiers to conquer a nation alone." Askar pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a swallow. "It explains why we can't seem to stomp out the traitors."

"There are two ways to conquer a people." Catra looked up and met their eyes. "From the outside. Or from the inside. From the outside, you have to break in. Crush their defenses. Their infrastructure. Destroy their ability to fight back. This is overwhelming force. Continuing, endless pressure. This is the tactic they want you to see. To fear. But Lord Hordak always uses both."

Catra was glad no one commented on her slip. 'Lord' had been Hordak's title her entire life.

"From the inside, you just need one traitor. From them, you build a network of cells. Interconnected, but separate, applying invisible pressure. Either they take over and hand the kingdom to Hordak, or they open the doors to conquest. Our traitors, if taught by the Horde, would build cells outside, each one searching for a way back in. Bloodclaw led just one of them. Shadow Weaver probably assumed Akrash was part of one - that's why his deception was so easy to pull off. She expected someone like him to exist."

Catra stared at the ground in abject misery. Everything she said was the truth - but it all pointed at her being the perfect candidate to be a Horde plant. None of them said it, but she knew - she knew they were all too smart not to think it.

"Yeah. That tracks." Akrash leaned forward. "She asked about camps. About my parents. I told her they had me hidden away on the surface and brought me back when I was needed, and she accepted it as face value. I think it means there are more. At least one led by my parents."

He grimaced. "The more I think about it, the more I'm sure of it. The Baron. If he was from one of our vassal families, then he was raised to be an enforcer. A killer. Not a leader. No long term planning, just a fast strike to kill the enemy. The leaders of the coup are still out there. The plan wasn't complete, and now enough parts of it are broken they may have to start over or change plans. It'll be hard to turn the people against the Queen and Catra now."

Cloudfoot chuckled. "Indeed. Their mistake and our victory reminded the people how much they love Lyra. And now Catra. They see her as a symbol of victory and restoration. You too, Akrash. Catra's battle in the castle plaza is quite the popular vid right now, and you are seen striking down with magic from the tower. Combined with her compassion for Dr. Arashu and support of your oath to Halfmoon, you are both heroes of the people. They also saw Queen Lyra fighting behind her daughter. Fighting for her people. Given the resources the Queen has already spent to rebuild, it would be very hard to start again soon."

Percival held up his hand. "For now. Eventually, the same unrest and frustrations will return. Many want to return to the surface - and while we cannot readily do so, we may have to start discussing it soon. Very soon."

Askar grunted. "We can't. Geographically, we are behind Horde lines. Underneath them! Returning to the surface would take a war the likes of which we cannot win. We would need allies. Numerous allies. Powerful allies."

"Which, we do not have," Percival cut in. "Our agents can only do so much. Building inroads with the other great nations would be all but impossible. Historically, we were too distant from them to be known, even before the Horde! The Empire of the Nest knew us, and they are gone - but they were between us and the rest of Etheria! Mystacor knew us, but we were not close. Angella of Bright Moon might remember us as more than legend. Perhaps Mercia of Salineas, but we never had contact with him! The paths to safe exits to and from the surface are fraught with dangers, just from what lives in Subtheria. It requires passing through areas controlled by those hostile to us! Supply routes must change every few months, and even then - "

Catra held up a hand. "Wait. What? Are you saying we have agents on Etheria?"

"We do." Percival shrugged. "It is one of my tasks to manage them, mostly because the network exists primarily for supplies we cannot get other ways, and I oversee many logistics. The problem, my lady, is our lack of knowledge of the surface. Some of our information is fifty years out of date. Akrash has been invaluable here, but there is so much we do not know. To have a meaningful presence on the surface requires either moving a great many people through tunnels without starting wars we do not want, or fighting our way through the Horde. Perhaps, by sea - but to get enough people and have consistent contact between them and us - the logistics are dizzying, and despite much thought on it, we have no easy answers."

"Because there aren't any," Cloudfoot said calmly. "It is why Subtheria was our only option when the Horde burned the forests; we could not cross the Horde lines to get to the rest of Etheria. Geography is our enemy as much as the Horde is."

Lyra cleared her throat. "Fine. Percival - find a way to get us more information. We need it. Because Halfmoon cannot exist as it is forever, and it is time for us to build bridges with the rest of Etheria. And Catra, Akrash, don't even think about it. Neither of you can go up - yet. Catra, you can't mingle with most of Etheria, unless most of Etheria was also raised by the Horde. Akrash, I can't stop you from leaving, but we need your knowledge accessible. I know you have those you love and miss on the surface, but - "

"Peace, your majesty." Akrash held up his hands. "My mo - teacher. Will wait for me. I have her promise and she's never broken her word to me. This - stopping what my parents started is - I have to. For me." The last was nearly a whisper. "I have sworn myself to you. To Halfmoon. I am no oath breaker!"

Lyra's smiled, shaking her head. "Going home to visit your family and friends, with the intent to return or bring us aid is not breaking your oath. It's either a vacation or a mission. I expect you and Catra will return to the surface - but not yet. Not now. Catra has much to learn before she can speak for Halfmoon, and you must be ready to go with her when the time comes. But that is the future. We must focus on the now. What are our next steps?"

Lenio fussed over making another plate - which he handed to Akrash. "Eat. You are magically exhausted as well as injured, and I'll not have you collapse on me."

Akrash sighed, but when he looked down at his plate, he looked up with a smile. "You remembered?" His voice was soft, full of surprise and wonder.

Lenio shrugged. "You always tried to bribe me with them for magic lessons. Of course I remembered. Now eat."

Akrash bit into one of the lingta wraps - spicy mushrooms and beef in seasoned flatbread. "You never took any, but you always found a few minutes to teach me something."

Lenio sniffed. "Of course I did. You have a rare talent. It was a shame your parents wasted it. Now, I reckon you could teach me a few tricks."

"Maybe?" Akrash shrugged. "I'm an amateur compared to my - my teacher. Probably compared to you, too."

Lenio waved him off. "There's one thing, your majesty. Akrash teaching us Mystacoran magics and us catching him up on what he should have learned in the Hall. That will be my task. Between he and I, we can start looking at what magics the Horde may have we don't know about."

Catra watched, remembering what Askar had said - Akrash had once followed Lenio around, asking for lessons.

Askar looked at Lyra. "Our next move should be to harry them, your majesty. Scare them. Send scouts to find the other camps. Raid supply lines. Show them we noticed it was them. Keep you inside the city, though. Make them wonder if they hurt us or not."

Lyra scowled. "Risky. The Horde is used to me showing up at major engagements and likely plans for it. How will you handle reinforced battalions sent to try to fight me? There are consequences to your plan to finally keep me from fighting."

Catra sipped her juice, realizing her mother routinely routed the Horde - to the point the Horde actually had to try to plan for her interventions.

And as powerful as Catra knew Lyra to be, Catra wasn't sure they could.

That's it, isn't it? That's why the queens are feared. That's why the RuneStones. If my mother takes the field, the battle is over, but she's a target every time she does.

"Guile, mostly," Askar shrugged. "We won't directly confront. We'll irritate. Annoy. Keep them guessing, but never let up. We've never been aggressive with them before, and I really want to be a little aggressive with them. Try to draw them out a bit, force them to react some."

"Do it." Lyra's voice was cold. Hard. Anger simmered underneath it. "Askar? If Mortella is on the field, withdraw and send for me. I will give you her ashes to send to Shadow Weaver with a very personal message from me and my daughter. Do not try to protect me or hide me from this fight, old friend. Shadow Weaver and her apprentices will face the Dr'iluths. Anyone who interferes does so at their own risk. Am I clear?"

The General flicked his ears in surprise. "Yes, your majesty. If Mortella is actively involved in a battle we can get you to, we will."

Catra looked over at her mother. She wanted Shadow Weaver herself, but if her mother managed to kill the old witch and it let her get Adora back, she wouldn't be too upset.

"I need to talk to the Royal Council - unless the Royal Council is all here." Catra's leaned forward, glaring, ears and tail flicking. "Because it's time they stopped making decisions about my life. What I do or don't get to know. Or do."

Lenio laughed. "I am not now, nor will I ever be on the Royal Council. I am an adviser to her majesty, and that's it. Cloudfoot is the only person here on the Council - it's made up of Ministers. Askar and Akrash have non-voting seats, if they bother with them. But this group here are the people your mother trusts. But I will be in the gallery for that Council meeting. I'd love to see some of those old bastards argue with you."

Lyra shrugged. "Of course. We can do that tomorrow - or as soon as Lenio clears you."

"After she is properly attired," Percival cut in. "Cloud and I will help her prepare. The Council has made some very poor decisions regarding our Princess, and I think they need to discuss those decisions with her. They will, of course, attempt to play the 'not of age' angle, but I think that will fail spectacularly."

Akrash grinned. "You just want them to have the fun of having her call them idiots to their faces. I'm good with it. I love it when she yells at people not me."

"I don't yell," Catra said. "I seethe. It's much more dignified and scares more people than yelling."

Lyra smirked. "Anything else? You all know what to do. Go do it. Later. For now - all of you. Take time for yourselves. A real break. More than a day! Go. Rest. Relax. Visit loved ones. Or a library, Cloudfoot, yes. Shoo!" The Queen waved them all out of Catra's room. Dr. Lenio pushed Akrash out, muttering about checking his wounds and making sure he got a real meal in him.

Askar remained. He looked right at Catra. "When you've recovered, Catra, you and I are going to the salle and you are going to show me what you know. Then, I will teach you what the Horde did not. I have seen you fight now, and you are a great warrior. You have the ability to become more - to stand against champions or anyone who dares raise a weapon to you."

Catra sat up, ignoring the aches and pains. Her eyes were wide and bright. "Yes! I will let you know as soon as Dr. Lenio says I'm ready."

Askar walked out, patting her shoulder. "Good. Now, do as your mother says. And eat something!" He paused at the doorway and then turned back to look at her. "You stood before the Spirit Ember and you came back with a spirit guardian. You stood before the Baron and he fell. You walked through the Guard to fall at the feet of your mother. If you have fooled me, fooled your mother, fooled Akrash and you are working for the Horde, you deserve to win - you have endured more than we could ask of anyone. Rest well, Princess. There is far too much work ahead of us."

Chapter Text

Royal Antechamber

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Catra stared into the mirror and barely recognized herself.

"It is nearly time, my lady," Percival stepped up next to her. "You are out of time to second guess your outfit. Take heart, Princess. You will not be what they expect."

Was this what Princess Catra looked like? Her, but not her? Or was she actually redefining herself? Remaking herself into Princess Catra?

Her hair was brushed and clean, but otherwise as wild as ever. She wore a tight, long-sleeved dark metallic copper crop top. Percival said the top emphasized both her athleticism and her youth, and spoke to the growing crowd around her age who 'dressed for the caves.' A short-sleeved maroon jacket of soft leather hung down almost to the base of her tail. It looked vaguely military without actually mimicking a uniform.

It looked like something Adora might have worn.

Skin-tight bronze leggings - the kind she'd worn in the Horde - felt normal, but Percival had added a short, loose wraparound skirt of maroon and copper. Her batons hung from a complex leather and copper chain belt that wrapped around her waist several times in an intricate pattern. She had wide copper bracelets with her family seal on them, and three matching cuffs on her tail. Her newly pierced ears had copper studs in the bottom two piercings, but the top were copper and ruby loops. Kesi - Percival's assistant - had insisted on copper bands around her ankles. And a thin copper and ruby chain around her bare waist. For 'symmetry.'

She looked more put together than she ever had. She looked like herself, but not like herself.

She'd come a long way in the week since Percival and Kesi had picked out her wardrobe. She was slightly more tolerant of people using her titles. (Mostly, figuring out Percival was as uncomfortable using her name as she was with him using her titles all the time.)

Somehow, getting the piercings had changed her perspective on herself. She wasn't 'Cadet Catra' anymore. She didn't think she was fully 'Princess Catra' yet - but she was getting there.

That was enough. For now.

"Now then," Percival adjusted her jacket. "You will not be alone in there. Your mother, Cloudfoot, Akrash and the General are in there."

She was trying. She was. Letting Percival adjust her outfit just this once, because it mattered. Because succeeding with the Council was more important than hating someone touching her.

It didn't mean she wasn't fighting the urge to bite his hand.

Catra shrugged. "And Melog."

They were hiding near her mother, invisible and waiting in case she needed them. She wasn't sure how most of them could help her. The Council had outvoted her mother and Cloudfoot on allowing her to find out her own history and on letting her meet the RuneStone. Askar and Akrash couldn't actually vote - only speak.

She'd been waiting almost a week for this, but the first Council meeting after the coup had been focused on the coup. Catra had known her issues needed to wait. This meeting, Lyra told her, was civic matters - and nothing that couldn't wait.

Now that the moment was here, she was unsure. Her plan was simple: barge into the Council and make them talk to her. Or, rather, listen to her. They had actively refused to 'hear her petition' and denied her the chance to speak to them, citing her 'young age' and 'lack of official standing.'

Lyra had been apoplectically angry. Cloudfoot had actually growled.

"Remember, my lady," Percival smoothed down her hair. "You actually have the power here. You are extending them a courtesy by coming to them instead of merely ignoring them. They are exerting political pressure on your mother, forcing her to fight them over you. They cannot technically refuse to see you, and you cannot technically be a petitioner. You are the Princess of Halfmoon, and they are attempting to reduce both your mother's power and yours. My dear Cloudfoot has prepared you well for this."

"I noticed," Catra muttered. "I don't get why. Why it matters if I see the RuneStone now or later. Why it mattered if I knew my father's name."

She brushed Percival aside. He'd adjusted her appearance enough. Either it would work or it wouldn't.

Cloudfoot had been talking to her about politics for the last two days - and Akrash had taken her aside at one point. He'd talked about manipulation. The things the Council would try to put her on the back foot. To make her sound and feel like things she wasn't.

He'd given her strong advice. "I learned politics, lying, and manipulation from my birth parents - conniving traitors who lied to a nation, from a woman whose royal rank is 'Duchess of Mystacor,' and in the halls of the pettiest bastards alive - magicians with nothing better to do than try to get one over on each other. I am over educated in the fine art of deception and ambition most politicians somehow make a career of."

He'd run a nervous hand through his blond hair. "Treat it like you would a fight. Press your advantage, let them know where you stand and come at them hard. You don't have the skills to go subtle or try to manipulate the situation. But you do have the skills to make them back down. Don't get distracted. Don't get knocked of course. Be simple. Be direct. Be clear. Call them out when they try to turn things around on you. They're expecting you to try to play their games. Don't. Do it your way."

"Control of power, princess. Control of power. The Council is a check on the monarchy, but is appointed by the monarchy. They are appointed to run the daily affairs of Halfmoon. The more power and influence they have, the more they can do. The more they do, the more power and influence they have. Leverage is currency, and they all want more of it. They also want you used to doing as they wish. The authority here is yours - they cannot actually run your life. They overstep even suggesting things outside of their spheres of authority."

Catra clenched her jaw and sighed. "I'm not good at being tactful or diplomatic."

Percival sniffed. "Neither are they. Imagine, the audacity. Leveraging your mother into being forced to hide things from you? Deciding for you and your mother how your integration into Halfmoon has gone? My lady, the Council is trying to use your appearance in Halfmoon to play politics - not unexpected, but quite uncouth. They, I think, need to learn you are not the Princess they want you to be. Nor will you be their pawn, their figurehead, or allow your life to be their battleground."

Catra turned away from the mirror. She could stare all day and still not recognize herself. She did love the new piercings, though, even if her mother was trying very hard not to disapprove. (She was trying to talk herself out of wanting the belly piercing Kesi had talked about.)

Percival watched her pace across the small antechamber. It wasn't a large room; just big enough for a small table, a couch, and an absurdly comfortable circular seat Catra had curled up on more than once while her mother argued with the Royal Council.

This time, it was her turn to argue with them.

"I know if I walk in there mad, I'll make enemies, and that could make it harder for my mother."

Percival shrugged. "My lady, I find it hard to believe they will not make you quite mad, no matter what mood you enter in. Sometimes, it is best to skip the middle steps and jump right to the end. And as for your mother - the Council has gotten very used to having a patient, accommodating Queen who is less interested in their internecine squabbles and more interested in her ancient duty of protecting her people. They do not know what they will awaken should they truly decide to challenge her on you. Or what they will start if they decide to turn your life in their business. You came to Halfmoon half-dead and abducted from your own life - with good intentions, true! But you have not lost a single battle, my lady. Not against us. Our enemies. Or me. Princess, it is the Council's choice. Once they make it, you will do what you do. Either find common ground and explain - or win."

"You're not bad at the motivational speeches." Catra grabbed her staff from where it leaned against her wall. "Mostly, you had me with the part where you said it didn't matter how hard I try to be nice, they're going to piss me off."

"I do. I have a lot of practice. And being obstreperous and infuriating is the Council's specialty - despite being quite good at running Halfmoon."

Catra looked up as she felt Melog whisper in her mind; their anticipation and almost glee caught her off guard. Like Percival, they were convinced the Council was going to piss her off. And they were looking forward to getting mad at them.

From the flow of emotions, the Council had already irritated and offended her mother, which did little to endear them to her.

"That's the signal. It's time."

Catra strode through the door into a short hallway - and into a large, domed room. Above and behind her were ascending rows of seats for petitioners and spectators - which were more filled than she expected. Halfmoon's citizens were more politically aware and invested than she'd been taught to expect they would be, and after the coup, there were more than normal.

Catra also knew the sessions were both recorded and broadcast live. Cloudfoot had encouraged her to play to that audience, too. He and Akrash had drilled her specific talking points; things to emphasize over and over. If she had to, she could vary, but no matter what, she needed to come back to those points.

"Do not let them pull you away from what you want to say. That's their tactic, not yours. You're going to be hyper focused on your points. Makes you harder to ignore - and makes it apparent when they do ignore you."

Akrash had been a veritable font of good advice. Not that Catra had let him know.

She could feel Melog sitting, invisible, next to her mother, ready and already projecting confidence and support.

Ahead of her was a stupidly large u-shaped table made of the same blue-black marble of the castle. Councilors sat around the u-shape and petitioners and speakers stepped into it to speak to the Council.

The room was dimly lit, except for the table, where bright lights shone down on the Councilors.

Right in the center was her mother, perched on a tall, plush stool, resplendent in her copper and maroon tunic and skirt, decorated with citrines and gold, her diadem wrapping around her forehead. She had a cup of tea in her hand and every appearance of infinite patience - though Catra knew better.

Lyra gave Catra an amused - and pleased - half smile.

To her right was Cloudfoot and to her left was Aster, his dark orange fur and bright green eyes a startling combination. Husky and solidly built, the Chair of Sorcery wasn't someone she'd interacted with since knocking him unconscious her first day in Halfmoon.

She really didn't want to. He was a sorcerer who had tried to hurt her. She wasn't entirely convinced he hadn't been trying to kill her.

And at the far ends of each side of the table, Akrash and Askar - the non-voting members - nodded to her.

She strode out towards the place speakers were to stand (she was not a petitioner. She wasn't asking them. She was informing them.) She tapped her staff on the floor with each step, the chime of metal on stone echoing.

The Council had fallen silent staring at her. She had been denied her request to speak, but she was there anyway.

The Minister to the right of Cloudfoot was already standing. He gave her small incline of his head. He didn't look impressive, despite his political clout. Dark gray fur and darker eyes, with short ears and a long, whippy tail. He wore an elaborate suit of dark silver and lighter gray, with a red sash crossing from his shoulder to his waist, marking him as Haverisk, the Minister of the City. While not the Chairman of Halfmoon - the elected leader of the city - he was still a city official appointed by popular vote. He had a tablet in his hands and looked like he was about to start talking.

(Catra had been shocked to learn that while her mother had absolute power over who filled Council seats, the various groups being represented often voted in their candidate and gave the Queen only one 'suitable' name.)

Haverisk narrowed his eyes, but immediately plastered a smile on his face. He looked right at her, and spread his hands wide.

"Princess Catra."

There was something in his voice setting her on edge; just two words and she already felt him looking down his nose at her. Not a great start. She did her best to control her reaction. At least he'd gotten her name right.

"Yeah?"

She felt, more than heard, Melog making their way around the table to take their place at her side.

There was murmur and wave of Councilors shifting at her blatant informality.

Haverisk drew in a breath. "We did not grant you leave to come speak today, Princess. Your petition will have to wait for another day. We will summon you when we are prepared to discuss your requests with you. There are important matters of state we must discuss."

Catra groaned internally. Percival was so going to get in an 'I told you so.'

Not only had he been right, but it hadn't take long at all. Petition? Summon her?

Lyra's eyes widened and she looked at Catra. Then nodded slowly, once. The Queen had noticed the language - and the attitude - and wasn't any happier about it than Catra was.

Catra stood there and smiled. There wasn't any good response she could give, and she was going to try not to start a fight.

This time, Haverisk sighed and set his tablet down. "Princess, I do believe I just told you that you are not invited to petition today. You may leave."

Lyra winced. Catra felt Melog's irritation rising with her own, and then she felt it as Melog showed her a glimpse of her mother's emotions - a towering, scornful rage, artfully hidden by her outwardly calm demeanor.

Okay. I sort of tried. Mostly. I meant to, anyway.

Catra tapped her staff on the floor again. "Aww, did I interrupt? How upsetting for you! See, you're wrong, though. I'm not a petitioner, you don't actually get to tell me what to do, and I thought I was being nice, telling you I'd come chat today. But I have other things to do, and you have a lot to answer for, so I figured we'd get started."

Cloudfoot's eyes went wide, and he leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. His face as a study in worry, pride, and anticipation. He knew her well enough to know whatever was coming would be, at the very least, entertaining.

Catra finished what she started.

Haverisk cocked his ears forward. "Pardon me? I'm not sure I understood you. Did you not petition this Council to lift the restrictions on you and allow you more access to information about Halfmoon?"

He leaned forward a bit, resting his hands on the table, obviously attempting to loom in her direction.

"Oh, please," Catra spun her staff once, her tail lashing behind her. "Loom and growl, like I'm some scared little kitten you can tell to sit in the corner? I've seen better. From kids. No, see, Councilor - whatever your name is - I'm not a petitioner. I'm not asking your permission. I'm here to let you know I am going to ignore any directives you give me about how to live my life, that I'm ignoring your restrictions, and to give you a chance to apologize and explain yourselves. I'm told it's the courteous thing to do."

Haverisk sneered as he pulled himself to his full height. He looked over at Lyra. "Your majesty! I object to this - flagrant disrespect! I will not be spoken to so by a child! She has no place addressing this Council!"

Catra felt Melog flinch at Lyra's reaction. Cloudfoot sat forward, his hands gripping the table. Askar scooted his chair back from the table, his face thunderous.

And Catra felt her mother's magic stir. It uncoiled, and she saw the lines of fire twining around her grow brighter - she could always see her mother's magic.

Despite the fire of her magic, the Queen's voice was cool. "Councilor, I believe it is possible you misspoke. My daughter is the Princess of Halfmoon and as such may address this Council whenever and howsoever she wishes. Her age has no bearing on her authority as Princess."

Haverisk's eyes widened at Lyra's voice. "Your majesty, I merely meant she is not yet crowned as Princess and - by this Council's edict - should not yet have been presented to the RuneStone!"

"By this Council's edict, Counselor?" The Queen leaned forward, and Catra noted her mother was much better at menacing than Haverisk. She barely shifted and there was an indefinable air around the Queen reminding everyone she was both a skilled sorceress and - until very recently - active in their battles against the Horde. A dangerous woman and an active, involved ruler, not a distant figurehead to be berated or entreated.

"Princess Catra is my daughter and this Council has no authority over her, her rank, or the Spirit Ember."

There was a hushed murmur from the gallery as the Queen spoke, each word enunciated clearly and carefully, her eyes never leaving Haverisk's.

"Your majesty," Haverisk turned to face the Queen. "This Council voted - and informed your majesty - we did not think it wise for the Princess to be aware of or be involved in a number of issues. I don't wish to say more, as that was a closed session, but your majesty did agree to those terms."

Lyra tilted her head, ears back, amber eyes bright with inner fires. "No, Haverisk. I did not. I merely acknowledged you voted. I merely chose not to object at the time. I was under no obligation to adhere to your 'edict' - and so I didn't."

Haverisk opened his mouth to respond, but Catra cut in. Obviously and purposefully interrupting him. Refusing to let him speak over her - or about her as if she weren't there.

"Oh, you mean when you voted on whether or not my mother got to tell me about my father? That vote?"

"Those matters were discussed in a closed session, Princess, and shouldn't be brought up here. Perhaps, we could schedule a closed session later to discuss it?" Haverisk reached for his tablet.

"No." Catra took another step forward. "Unless my mother says there's a good reason to, I think you should explain it now. Or is your answer to why you didn't want my mother to tell me my father's name just that lame?"

Several of the Councilors were glancing at each other, realizing Catra had just said all of that out loud. On vid. And in front of people in the gallery. Accusations they would have to answer for, one way or another.

Haverisk blanched and looked back at the Queen. He did his best to look patient and expectant, but clearly hoped against hope the Queen would decide in his favor.

Lyra smiled coolly. "I see no reason for a closed session. It is well known history, taught in our schools. Please, answer my daughter."

Haverisk collected himself, doing his best to look as in control as he could, but his tail and ears were twitching, making his frustration obvious. The rest of the Councilors had fallen silent, watching the exchange, not willing to step in on either side of the debate - yet.

Cowards. Catra knew it took a three-fourths majority to vote on anything - including telling the Queen the Council felt she should wait to tell Catra about her own origins and taking her to the RuneStone. Most of them had to have voted for it.

"Your majesty, not all of the details of that night were made public, and we wanted our discussions to respect that. I still feel a closed session would be more appropriate. And we did request a stay on the dissemination of specific information until definitive proof Princess Catra was, indeed, Princess C'yara."

Which had been proven before she'd left the infirmary - and they all knew that. So did most of the public. He didn't try to insinuate she was a Horde spy or sleeper agent, at least. Anyone with sense would have realized she could have easily taken the throne the night of the coup.

Catra rolled her eyes. She'd seen Horde officers and civilians try the same kind of verbal song and dance with Shadow Weaver many times before. If they were creative enough, she sometimes let them get away with it. Most weren't.

"Fine. Whatever. You can avoid the question all you want - you still sat here and decided I didn't get to know my own father's name because I was kidnapped by our enemies. You tried to control me - and how I got to learn about my own people. Controlling information. It's a neat trick. The Horde does it all the time. Keep people guessing what things really are or aren't. Hide what people need to know behind closed doors so the only thing they know is what the Horde tells them. In this case, you want me to know only what you and the Ministers decide I get to know, but I'm not nearly as stupid as you want me to be."

Catra spun her staff again, tapping it against the floor - and started pacing. As her frustration and anger grew, so did her awareness of the magic around her; her vision started to shift on its own, and she didn't fight it this time.

Magic permeated the old castle and pulsed like a heartbeat below it; ley lines whispered and roared under them and Catra - to her own shock - almost found it grounding for once.

"The problem, Minister, is controlling information means sometimes people don't know what they need to know and sometimes, you get the exact opposite effect. The Horde hiding things from me? I found out. I figured out the Horde wasn't out to save the world from evil princesses. I didn't know if princesses were evil or not, but I damn well knew the Horde was. My mother told me about my father. My grandparents. My family's dedication and service to Halfmoon. She showed me princesses aren't evil - and knowing about my family helped me come to terms with being a Princess. Now, I'm proud - and scared and excited - to be Halfmoon's Princess. But if I hadn't been told, I might have seen Halfmoon as another version of the Horde. Wanting to lock me up and make me do things without telling me why. Without telling me what I was fighting for or who I was serving. I would have left. Taken my knowledge of Halfmoon with me, too."

She paced back and felt Melog walking along beside her. "A couple of weeks ago, we were attacked. I raced up the side of the castle to get to my mother." There was a fierceness in her voice, a growl she didn't bother to hide. "She was in danger. But what could I have done if I'd known my mother was safe? If I'd known what kind of powers a Queen of Halfmoon has at her disposal?"

Several of the other Ministers were looking across the table at Haverisk with open hostility, and others were glancing up at the cameras and trying not to grimace. They knew there was no way this wasn't going to get re-broadcast and shared.

They knew Haverisk had started a fight he couldn't win. They knew he'd involved most of them in the fight.

Catra shook her head. "That's part of my legacy, too. Part of who I am. All of it is. Halfmoon is. You didn't want me to be a part of my family, my people, except on your terms. Who the hell are you to tell me - to tell my mother - what I can and can't know about my own people, my own culture? I wanted to know about my family - something I haven't been allowed to have - not military secrets! You do have a lot to answer for, but you're too busy trying to control me and make my mother play politics to realize what you did. You're too scared of what people will think of your answers to my questions. The people of Halfmoon proved the other night - they aren't as stupid as you, or the Horde, want them to be, either. You answer to them, not me. I answer to them, not you. So guess what? I'm not playing politics. I'm not petitioning for the right to know about my own history. I'm here as courtesy - I get to know and you don't get to tell me what I can or can't learn about myself. And you don't get to drag me behind closed doors to scold me or threaten me or try to convince me I don't get to know because you said so."

She almost bared her fangs as she smiled. "Have fun with your 'important affairs of state,' Ministers. I've courteously informed you to stop trying to interfere in my life."

Time to go. That was more words than Catra usually said about anything, much less in public. If Princesses had to talk like that all the time, Catra could see why they all went mad.

Catra turned to leave when another Minister stood up and cleared his throat. Like Cloudfoot, he was black and white, but he lacked Cloudfoot's black striping - he had patches of white on his face, neck, and hands. He stood tall and proud, ignoring Haverisk's pleading eyes to not say whatever it was he was about to say.

Lyra's glare at Imoh was sharp, pointed, and intense. She cleared her throat to get his attention, but he ignored her. He stood tall and stiff, with every bit of formality he could muster, his own pale blue robes falling about him in perfect lines.

"I am Minister Imoh, Princess - Minister of Culture and one of the Keepers of History, along with Minister Cloudfoot. Highness, part of the reason we want a closed session is not just to discuss your history - which yes, you have every right to! - but also to discuss actual matters of state! The implication we would attempt to coerce you is insulting! And for your information, such matters of state would include your own obligation to provide Halfmoon with an heir, and as the continuity of government is one of the areas in which this Council does have authority, we have prepared a list of appropriate prospects for marriage upon your coming of age, many of whom are - "

Catra hissed. Her ears pinned back and this time, she bared her fangs.

"You want to what? Breed me? To someone you picked for me? Tell me. Is that a legal obligation of being a Princess? Because if so, you just opened up an entirely new set of problems for yourselves, Minister. It's not happening. You don't get to choose that for me. You don't even get to suggest someone for me. Or will make it so much your problem you will reconsider ever speaking again, much less speaking to me."

Catra ignored the fact the runes on her staff had lit up with red and gold fire. She didn't know what to do with it and thinking about it too long would make her regret a lot of things.

She was also aware she had just threatened a Minister, but she really didn't care. He wanted to pick a spouse for her? Catra would do far more than threaten if he actually went forward with it. To him and whoever he picked.

Melog was crouched beside her, still invisible - revealing him on vid wasn't the plan, but he was there just in case.

The Minister started, eyes wide. "Well, um, Princess, it is, uh, a - "

"It is not an obligation." Lyra's voice was tight and controlled, but there was no hiding the tension or anger in her voice. Catra wasn't the only one sensing her magic. Aster had scooted away, and Akrash had the sleeves of his robes pulled back to free his hands.

Askar had stood and his claws were out. He stared right at Imoh, a direct and open threat.

Lyra spoke slowly. "As I have stated, more than once, you were not to bring this up with my daughter at any time or under any circumstances as her 'prospects' were so far out of your purview you couldn't even see them."

The Minister wrung his hands. "Your majesty, arranged marriage is a long-standing part of Halfmoon culture, and - "

Catra tapped her staff on the floor again. Harder. Louder. "Come down here, Minister. Walk up to me and tell me to my face you have the right to tell me who I'll have kids with. Come down here and tell me to my face you think you have the right to control my life. You're brave enough to be insulted I would 'imply' coercion, but that's exactly what you want to do. So be brave, Minister. Have the strength of your convictions and say it to my face. Or never say it again."

The Minister, looking affronted, huffed. "As it appears you may become violent over this - rather rational - discussion, I will table it until another time, when, perhaps, you will have learned more of your place in Halfmoon and understand more of our history."

Cloudfoot was actively glaring at the other Minister, shaking his head.

Catra's felt her claws slide out and she looked the Minister in the eye. "I said no, Minister. That answer won't change. Ever. Kittrina's having a kid. They'll be my heir. I'm done here. Cloudfoot, I look forward to our training this afternoon."

She used the word on purpose. Because he hated it when she called their lessons 'training' and because she wanted to remind the Ministers she already had at least two sources of information: her mother and Cloudfoot.

"The rest of you can get back to your actual jobs and being rank cowards."

She turned and strode back towards the door she'd come in, but she paused and looked back at them. "Oh, and by the way. You failed. You answered nothing. But now I'm aware. You want to control me. What I know. Who I marry. Your 'edict' meant nothing. I've already connected to the RuneStone. Well, it connected to me. The glowy fire rock is a dumb face. It was supposed to show me things, not give me more magic. Rude, for a floating rock."

As she stepped back into the hall, now lit by the simmering magical fire on her staff, she heard mother stand.

"This Council is adjourned and dismissed."

Catra paused in the doorway and turned to watch.

A low outcry followed as various Ministers cried foul or tried to argue, but Lyra ignored them. She strode around the table, following Catra. Haverisk, at least, had the good sense to sit down and rest his head in his hands.

Imoh and two others moved to flank Lyra, but Askar was there first. He growled low at the three of them, towering over them all. Akrash walked up next to him, his eyes flickering blue-white.

"I wouldn't." His voice was mild, but between he and the General, it was enough to back them down.

Catra had been a bit surprised to find out the position of Royal Sorcerer was one of three government positions given to sorcerers in Halfmoon. The first was the Speaker of the Hall of the Lost Temple (a title Catra considered entirely too long and pompous), the Sorcery Chair of the Royal Council, currently held by Aster - Kittrina's husband and her cousin - and then the Royal Sorcerer.

Akrash's job was to offer magical protection, advice, and aid to the royal family, and his remit and permissions were astonishingly wide and forgiving. He could, under the right circumstance, literally get away with murder. Her mother had shown him an immense amount of trust when she'd appointed him to her household, and Catra felt he'd started to prove he deserved it the night of the coup.

Askar and Akrash backed down the hall.

Catra ducked into the room, and Lyra was a step behind her. Askar came in after her, Akrash right behind him.

As the door closed behind Akrash, he raised his hand and spoke quickly, the arcane words slicing into the air. The walls, floor and ceiling flash blue. She also felt the magic hum through the air, could almost see the strands of it, the shape of it as he worked the privacy spell, twining it with a spell that would literally destroy any magics reaching outside the room - such as listening or scrying spells.

Lyra darted forward and grabbed Catra in a fierce hug. Catra almost dropped her staff, but Askar took it from her hand.

"Momma…they can't - they can't really do that, can they?"

Lyra's Study

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

Catra stared out at her mother and her advisers. Waiting. Squeezed into the very end of the couch in Lyra's study, her knees pulled up to her chest, her tail around her legs. Melog was on her shoulder, licking her hair.

Lyra hadn't wanted to answer her in the antechamber - even with Akrash's spell, she didn't want the conversation there. She had hustled them through the castle to her study. Catra wanted to think it was because she would feel safer there, but Catra knew it was as much for Lyra as it was for her.

Akrash and Askar sat in the chairs in front of Lyra's desk, both looking grim and fierce. Cloudfoot sat in Lyra's chair, and Lyra perched next to her daughter.

Catra wanted to ask again; she felt like her nerves were humming. Her vision shifted in and out her magic vision, and she felt dizzy. Shaky. How had it not occurred to her a Princess would need to be married?

Or have kids?

Finally, Lyra spoke. "I'm sorry. We should have warned you. I thought I had quashed the entire idea in the first days you were here, but Minister Imoh seems more set on it than we realized."

Catra's ears perked up and she stared through the dimly lit room, staring right at her mother. "Can he? Can he really do that?"

Her voice shook. She didn't care. She wavered between shocked and scared and violently angry. Killing Minister Imoh was probably politically poor decision making and illegal, but part of Catra also knew it would solve the problem.

She savagely ignored the feeling that marrying anyone was somehow betraying Adora. That she didn't let herself think those thoughts about Adora. It wasn't allowed. It wasn't something she was allowed to have or to feel.

The soft wonder that maybe - just maybe - here in Halfmoon she might be allowed to think of Adora that way. To imagine holding her that way. To think about Adora, her face lit in the soft light of her rooms, staring back at her with blue eyes full of trust and wonder.

Sometimes she caught Adora looking at her that way. Sometimes, just for a second, Catra let herself imagine.

"No." Lyra held out her hand for Catra. "He cannot. He thinks he can, but it has been a long time since those laws existed."

Catra reached her tail out, curling it around Lyra's wrist.

Cloudfoot spoke softly. "Once, perhaps. Even then, the laws were fuzzy interpretations of custom. He is not wrong - arranged marriages between families, settlements, were not uncommon. To our shame, some noble families still practice this barbaric custom, but it is illegal to force a marriage. Those being contracted to marry must agree - and the Queen must approve it. Lyra, like her fathers, have yet to approve a single request."

"Nor will I." Lyra's voice was soft. "It is abhorrent, immoral, and a terrible thing to foist upon someone. Love, marriage, children - they should always be choices. Without exception. Once, many nobles - not just magicats - were subject to arranged and enforced marriages, to ensure the continuity of magically potent bloodlines. To ensure there were enough potential heirs that at least one could bond with the RuneStones. The results were terrible partnerships and everything that comes with such. But that has not been the case in generations. But the laws allowing it were stricken before the Horde invaded. Minister Imoh and his faction want to re-instate many older laws, enforce population control, and other draconian measures to protect Halfmoon and our culture. I refuse to allow it."

Catra slowly uncurled herself, letting Melog poke and prod her emotions. They encouraged her to reach back out to Lyra. To not force thoughts of Adora away.

"You mean what they think our culture should be," Cloudfoot grumbled. "And his comment - the Keepers of History are a fraternal society of academics! He made it sound like we are some kind of governmental entity, not a small collective of scholars! He is a fool. Culture must evolve or it stagnates, and we will vanish into history, another lost and forgotten people."

"Which we will not allow." Lyra shook her head. "The Minister's faction are influential, but not dominant. Haverisk's progressive faction is the strongest, politically. They push for us to expand, either back to the surface or further into Subtheria."

Catra inched closer to her mother. "Did I screw it up, today? Percival said to go in mad. Akrash said to treat it like a fight."

"No, my heart. You did nothing wrong. Haverisk and Imoh overstepped calling for a vote and issuing any kind of ruling governing your life. Their authority is over the administration and governance of Halfmoon, and then only under my leadership. I have veto power or anything they decide. I appoint them. They can vote to remove me as Queen, but only for the recognized heir to step into my spot and only if they can prove to other officials I have failed in my duties so grievously Halfmoon is in imminent danger of complete destructions. They can only influence the succession if there is no clear heir, and that is not the case."

Askar chuckled. "If anything, Catra, you scared them. Haverisk is a political creature. He is damn good at his job, don't get me wrong. He has done well in his position for over a decade. His plans, his vision for the city are sometimes even inspired. His desire to expand is at odds with Imoh's desire to hold to old cultural norms - things that haven't been the norm since well before the Horde, as your mother said. He is not used to direct confrontation, much less someone calling him on his shit in public."

Catra's claws extended and retracted and her tail thrashed. She stared around at all of them, feeling cornered. Why couldn't she just fight people? She was good at fighting. This was - it was all stupid. She had nothing to do with running the city or culture or power struggles. She didn't even know what she was doing yet!

"Then why is he fucking with me? And if Imoh can't marry me off, then what's his play? None of it makes sense."

Akrash smiled bitterly. "Power, princess. It's about power. If your mother wants them to support her when she orders something - military recruitment, for example, or expanding the Hall, or having Askar go after the Horde - she has to give them something in return. She can do it without them, but having their support and cooperation makes it easier. Your mother can't run every aspect of the country on her own, so she has the Council to help. They want influence over your mother, using her need for their support to trade for things. I don't know for sure, but I bet before we arrived, the succession was a bit of a mess?"

Cloudfoot sighed. "An understatement. Aster was the clear successor, by bloodline. But the Spirit Ember has never bonded with one born male. Kittrina has no magical ability at all and cannot bond with the RuneStone. Meaning, a custodian of the Stone would need to be appointed, if Lyra had no other children. Meaning, each Councilor had a potential candidate for this, often their own relative. Haverisk's daughter, Mira, for example is a fine sorceress and distantly related to Lyra's family. Your arrival, Catra, and evidence of your magical talents via your use of your staff during your run through the Grand Hall, literally made their plans nothing more than idle speculation. They acted quickly to try to slow your ascent to becoming the heir and to force your mother to compromise with them while they searched for ways to use your arrival."

Lyra nodded. "A fair summation. I erred in allowing the Council to convince me to wait as long as I did to tell you your own story, Catra. I waited, thinking to give them time to get used to the idea and to not spring too much on you at once. I had planned to take you to the RuneStone after your Coronation. It allowed the Council to think they were manipulating me, and allowed me the ability to have you crowned without their interference. If they thought they were trading the Coronation for keeping you from the Ember, they would support the ceremony. Then, the day after you were crowned, I would take you to the Ember without their knowledge and see what happened. It would have also given me time to prepare you for meeting the RuneStone and to discover your magic."

Catra's ears pinned back. "Why didn't any of you tell me this was happening?"

Askar shrugged. "I didn't know? Good question, though."

Lyra slumped. "It's easy to see the mistakes, looking back. I should have, and I'm sorry I didn't. I was afraid, my heart. Afraid you would want to leave. Afraid it would overwhelm you. Afraid it would taint your perception of Halfmoon. Afraid it would keep you from being my heir, which - I want you to succeed me, Catra. I believe in you and I am right. You are a good princess and you will be a wise queen."

"I am your heir. I want to be your heir. I want to be Halfmoon's Princess." She could barely believe what she was saying, much less how true it was. How important had become to her. "I don't run from challenges. I usually make them bleed, but I'm open to other options. Mostly. I can't promise if he tries again Imoh won't bleed."

Askar growled low. "I think he should, for the mere suggestion. This is the kind of foolishness I left Eternia to avoid. It's why I brought Kittrina here. My daughter may be content with such - arrangements, but my granddaughter is not. He is a fool, ambitious and power hungry, and facing Catra's claws would teach him lessons about taking power that isn't his. Or mine."

Lyra shook her head. "As satisfying as that might seem, Imoh has his supporters. Enough of them to embolden him to make the suggestion against my express wishes. Catra is already - just by existing - garnering support of those who want our culture to evolve and reflect who we are now instead of who we once were. This is as much a cultural clash as it is a political problem. However," she held up her hand to stall Catra and Askar's inevitable complaints, "if he pushes too far or crosses lines, you can remind him blood duels are also part of our cultural history."

Askar laughed, and Catra perked up. "Cloudfoot. Next lesson. Blood duels. Everything you know."

Cloudfoot looked both pained at excited. "I suppose it was inevitable. They are not quite legal anymore, but I'm happy to go over the history and rules with you. As long as you remember, as a Princess, you are supposed to be above such."

Catra mewled. "I can just make that part of my 'cultural evolution' if I have to."

"Please don't? I'd rather you stick to piercings and sass for the moment. Imoh is going to be a problem, though, and one violence can't solve. So is Haverisk. He wants more control over the monarchy without commensurate power given to the citizens. Dangerous, not just because Ministers influencing the use of the Ember is unwise."

Catra finally uncurled, slowly leaning over until her head was in Lyra's lap. "Should I have hidden that I already went to the Ember?"

"No. They knew. They didn't want anyone else to know, but they knew. I informed them the night we went." Lyra ran her fingers through Catra's hair. "Today wasn't supposed to be so much for you. It was supposed to be you delivering a message to the Council, not being threatened with unlawful matrimony."

Akrash snorted. "If anything, you did really well. It'll look like you tricked them. They played most of their hand. Haverisk's popular because people want Halfmoon to grow. All you have to do is let his most important supporters know you have inroads to the surface with me and her, but you can't trust him because of how he handled things. His own people will cut him off at the knees and either make him come back, tail in hand to play nice or replace him with someone who will. Imoh dropped his bombshell, trying to startle people into talking about it. And they will - but Catra named the next in line. Kittrina's ambitious - she wanted Catra's spot. She'll stand against anything taking her kid out of the succession. Any noble on Imoh's list is going to distance themselves, because forced marriage won't be popular. He'll try again, he'll push for things, but put a bug in Kittrina's ear about her kid being next on the auction block and let her handle Imoh. She's savvy, she's got the right instincts, and he won't expect her."

Cloudfoot laughed. "You are a sneaky one, aren't you? I like it. I can be the old fusspot and grouse about Catra's age. I know, I know!" He held up his hands at Catra's glare. "Our magic number theory law deciding when you can or can't do things. But I can play into expectations of it - that Imoh is bringing up the subject of marriage about someone your age!"

Catra tried to sit up, but Lyra pulled her back down. "My heart, much of politics is playing to expectations. Either fulfilling them or defying them. Cloudfoot can make people think differently about Imoh's ideas, make them uncomfortable with the notion. Once the other Ministers are uncomfortable with it, it will be harder for him to gain support. While he can't force the issue, he can make it a matter of debate and contention for a long time to come, and all the threats in the world won't stop him."

"Actually hitting him would," Askar grumbled. "Five minutes face to face with Catra and he'd sing a whole new tune."

"We are not going to commit acts of violence upon a Minister." Lyra sighed. "As tempting as it is. We will undermine him and Catra can continue to say 'no' every time it comes up. As will I. In the meantime, we will focus on finding ways to connect to the rest of Etheria and expand Halfmoon. It might be a solution - once we get somewhere."

Catra let her eyes close. "As long as he can't force me to get married, I don't care what we do."

She had to stop thinking about Adora. She wanted Adora back. She had a plan - a desperate, stupid, probably-impossible plan to be able to take advantage of anything that might let her save Adora if she ever got the chance.

That's all she had.

The Spirit Ember had shown her Adora was alive - and hurting. She knew that, too.

She would have to be careful. Be quiet. Prepare herself - prepare her life - for the chance. It was all she had.

"He cannot force you to get married. Or consider any of his 'prospects.' Or do much of anything else about it, my heart. He can just talk and distract everyone with it. Endlessly. Unless I replace him, which would be difficult. There are not many who can fill his role well, and most of them are already either on the Council or otherwise working in my government."

Catra didn't bother saying it. They should know. If they didn't, they hadn't been paying attention. Even if Imoh could make her get married, she wouldn't actually do it. No matter what she had to do, she would not be married against her will.

Akrash sighed and stood up, smiling ruefully. "Well, one of us should let Kittrina know she's a pawn in our political plotting. Her own fault, really. She wanted to be a princess. And because it's my plan, I'll go."

Askar's ears ticked up and he gave Akrash an amused look. "No need to sacrifice yourself. She's my granddaughter. I would be happy to let her know her schemes worked. She'll be overjoyed, I'm sure."

Akrash shrugged. "If you want to do the honors, you're welcome to it. Getting glared at by two princesses in one day sounds exhausting, and I have a whole lot of scheming and political research to do if we're going to undermine Haverisk."

Catra almost felt bad for Kittrina - the poor girl's ambition was being used to protect her from manipulative Ministers and Catra had just announced to the world her kid would be third in line for the throne of Halfmoon.

"Should I go? It's partly my fault."

"No." Askar shook his head. "Putting her child in the succession was Kittrina's plan, so don't go feeling guilty. She got what she wanted, official and in public. But, I think I should go find Aster before I talk with her. That boy has a way of getting her to stop and think."

"Recruit her." Lyra's voice was soft, but stern. "Akrash, go with him. I want her on our side, not just be aware she's part of this. She would be anyway, if Imoh gets his way. She is a member of the royal family and through her own actions, she is now a ranking member. Convince her to help us. Make her an ally, gentlemen, not a reluctant conspirator or a useful enemy. Cloudfoot, find Percival. Gather what you both know for Akrash. Then, come see me. It is time we started planning my daughter's Coronation. Catra…"

"Is going to take a nap while you plan. Too young. Am child, remember?" If she slept, she might dream of Adora.

She wanted to dream of Adora.

"No, my heart. For once, I am not going to tell you to rest. We are going to have lunch and discuss politics like proper royals. Then, when Cloudfoot returns, we will plan your Coronation."

Catra sighed and sat up.

Cloudfoot stood. "Wonderful. A renewal of current tradition on the heels of a refusal of culture we have grown beyond! Splendid. I will bring Percival back with me! And color swatches! We can choose a theme for the reception! Until then, your majesty." He bowed low and darted out the door with an energy Catra rarely saw from him.

Color swatches? Theme? Catra felt her stomach drop. She wasn't sure what those were, but she did not have a good feeling about them.

Politics and event planning. It had to be the reason the Horde thought princesses were evil. Otherwise, most of it felt very petty.

But event planning? That sounded evil.

Chapter Text

Barracks

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Two Months (or thereabouts) after Catra's abduction

"Easy now. Almost there." Scorpia wanted to help her. Hold her up. But Adora wouldn't let her. Cadets were supposed to let people help. People were supposed to help her. Teach her. Guide her.

Her guardian wasn't supposed to torture her every seven days.

Technically, she could take Adora to the infirmary, but what good would that do? She already knew how well they took care of her cadet. She knew the trauma living in the infirmary. She couldn't trust them not to hurt Adora more.

Scorpia would just have to find a way to take care of her.

On trembling legs, cold swear trickling down her face, Adora walked to her bunk. She walked slowly, but with purpose. Shoulders and head high. Scorpia could see the angry red lines of lichtenberg figures curling along her skin, running high enough they crept up above the high collar of her white compression shirt.

She stared up at her top bunk, her face blank. Scorpia had learned; it was ingrained deep in Adora - never let them see you weak.

Scorpia hated it, but could hardly blame her. Predators circled Adora; always waiting for her to falter, to fall down before they struck. If Adora stood, the blonde could win, and everyone knew it.

I should have left her in the tenemos. Should have just had us sleep there.

If she weren't Force Captain, she would have. If she weren't Force Captain, she and Adora would have moved to the tenemos a month ago. It wasn't worth coming back to the barracks most nights.

Scorpia wasn't technically in charge of anything in the barracks, but as the highest ranking officer, she was held responsible for it. She often failed, because none of the troopers wanted to clean. Or organize. Or file paperwork. Or do anything other than be troopers at the Dark Temple. They loved the prestige of it. The mystique.

But the other soldiers were silent as they watched Adora walk to her bunk. They knew it was the seventh day, and on the seventh day, Adora proved her mettle. On the seventh day, Adora had magic lessons with Shadow Weaver.

After breakfast, Adora walked to the main compound. To the Black Garnet chamber. Scorpia avoided going anywhere near the Garnet. She'd never seen it. Never considered seeing it. She didn't want to. She didn't want to even think about her family's RuneStone.

Her fear and hatred ran too deep.

It chilled her, thinking Adora had grown up around it. Spent time near it every week. What would it do to her cadet? The Garnet's magic was the magic of change. Transformation. Of forging raw material into something new.

She didn't want Adora anywhere near it.

Scorpia walked behind, leaned down. Whispered. "Will you let me help?"

Adora grimaced. She gave a small shake of her head. Then reached her shaking hand up and gripped the top bunk and started to pull herself up. Her bare foot slipped on the ladder the first time.

The second time.

The third time she got purchase and slowly, painfully, stoic and silent, crawled into her bed. She carefully sat cross-legged.

Scorpia looked at her, all the questions she wanted to ask freezing on her tongue, because she couldn't ask them in front of the other soldiers. It would shame Adora and it would reveal her weakness.

And Scorpia knew the answers. Adora wasn't okay. Adora would somehow force herself to wake up the next day, after not enough sleep, drink not enough water, eat not enough rations, and go train too much - because that's what she was expected to do.

Adora smiled grimly. "Don't worry, Force Captain. I'm fine. My performance didn't impress Shadow Weaver and she had to correct me. A lot."

It took Adora an age to change into her pajamas, but she did. She carefully folded and put away her clothes. She hung her jacket from the end of her bunk. She turned on her tiny lamp and laid back, finally closing her eyes.

It would be a while before Adora really slept. On the seventh day, Scorpia usually did paperwork while Adora tried to sleep. Making sure no one took advantage of her being hurt and tired. Standing there and watching Adora sleep would be weird. And dangerous - revelatory to the others.

Neither of them could afford to show weakness.

Scorpioni only needed to sleep a few hours every few days. She always slept the night of the sixth day. She never slept on the seventh day. She did a lot of self-study at night. A lot of paperwork. Too much thinking. Too little hoping.

Scorpia sat on her bunk, tablet and stylus in her pincers. She was ready for the next six days. The six good days.

Six days a week, they trained.

She and Adora had to wake earlier than the others, sure. They went to bed later, too. Mostly, they were in the tenemos with Duncan. They trained there. Ate there. Did paperwork there. Studied academics there.

(Or huddled in Scorpia's bunk. No one bothered Scorpia during study time, unless they wanted to end up sitting on the floor, being taught something Scorpia just knew was essential knowledge.)

Scorpia made Adora take half days occasionally. She'd taken Adora to the range. Had her practice driving tanks and flying skiffs. She had plans for land navigation and survival training - good training and good excuses to get Adora outside for bit!

She'd made Adora take a single day off, and it had been a disaster. Her mothers had inculcated her with the idea breaks were good, but they'd never met Adora. She didn't know what to do with free time! Her cadet had been an anxious mess all day, worried she was doing something wrong. She didn't have hobbies. Or interests other than training. (Though, Scorpia had discovered Adora loved history and was encouraging her to study more of it.)

They had ended up practicing in the barracks.

Adora was easily the most disciplined person Scorpia had met. Her routines were set. Morning practice. Evening exercises. She rarely varied her routine.

They had blocks of time for chores. Equipment maintenance. Special Unit 1985 acted as a unit - even if there were only two of them. (Paperwork didn't stop Scorpia from mentally including Duncan in her unit, despite knowing she wasn't supposed to.)

The seventh day was Scorpia's turn to be an anxious mess.

Adora would come back, pale and shaking. Clammy, soaked in cold sweat. Hugging herself, often with a tear streaked face. She wouldn't go back to the bunk room. She always went to the tenemos.

Where Scorpia and Duncan waited.

When Adora came back and bowed herself into the tenemos, she would be unsteady on her feet. Trembling. She wouldn't want to be touched. To have anyone close to her. She would just slowly sip her water and sit in a corner until Scorpia made her eat.

Duncan would still train her. They both knew not allowing her to train would make it worse. Take away something Adora needed. Make her feel like more of a failure. Working sword forms with her kiari was one of the few things that could ground Adora after her magic lessons.

More than once, Scorpia had caught glimpses of angry red lichtenberg figures on Adora's skin; marks of the terrible lightning Shadow Weaver wielded as a weapon and as a punishment.

Usually, Adora would only say two words about her lessons. "I failed."

This time, the seventh day had been worse. Adora had come back barely able to stand. Lightning had marred her skin; even her hands and her face. Scorpia and Duncan had waited until she'd all but collapsed before Scorpia took her back to the barracks.

The first time Weaver had taken Adora, Scorpia hadn't known what to do with herself. Worry and anger and anxiety and frustration had coursed through her. She'd cleaned the bunk room, done all her paperwork, and spent a nice few hours lifting metal and pummeling tanks slated for the scrapyard.

Midday, she had gone to Duncan. He'd waved her in, but he had been fighting a group of soldiers.

All of them thought they should have been promoted to Force Captain instead of someone else and were challenging the decision. Shadow Weaver had agreed to give them a chance. The rules were simple: they fought Duncan. If they landed a blow on him, they became a Force Captain. If they defeated him, they became a Force Commander.

For the first time, Scorpia had watched Duncan fight. Got a true measure of his skill. The armed and armored soldiers were outmatched and outclassed by the Master of Arms. Using nothing more than a wooden stick in place of his preferred mace, he soundly and brutally thrashed them.

What she had seen made her blanch. Not just Duncan's casual violence; that was the nature of the test. The nature of being a warrior asked to test the enemy imprisoning him. She didn't like it, but she understood it.

These soldiers had wanted to be Force Captains? They didn't know how to work together at all! They didn't even try! They were sloppy and they were arrogant and they were foolish, thinking they could either intimidate Duncan or overwhelm him with underhanded and sometimes downright cruel attacks. Force Captains were leaders. They had to know how to work in a team. How to lead a team.

At the end, the last of them, frustrated and humiliated, had actually turned and attacked Scorpia. She'd side-stepped the clumsy attack and batted him away with ease, doing her best not to hurt him. When he came at her again, she had taken his weapon and dropped him to the ground harder.

Duncan had pointed at her. "That is a Force Captain. Control. Discipline. Focus. She chose her attack. She chose how much force to use. Come back when you have a tenth of her skills and try again."

Guards and medics escorted them out. Duncan had nodded to her, and without a word, they fell into what became a pattern. He worked with her on techniques or skills she wanted to improve, and they talked a bit. Not enough. But some.

He gave her the same encouragement he gave Adora. Got her to talk about things she didn't ever talk about.

"I'm not that different than other Horde soldiers! I just worry about the Princesses, too! All that power! It did terrible things to my family. It's why my grandfather yielded to Lord Hordak, I think. The RuneStone was poison to him, he said." She barely remembered her grandfather, but she remembered that much. The magic of the Black Garnet had been a terrible burden, and it often escaped his control, especially in his later years. Her mothers had wanted nothing to do with it. They had told her they were afraid of it, afraid of what it could and would do.

"My moms taught me, before the carapace rot got them. They told me to always seek joy. Big joy. Small joy. Even tiny joy. Whether it's in doing something really, really well or trying really, really hard or finding that small moment when things are perfect, even just for a few breaths. Find the joy and hold onto it. Look for it and you'll find it."

Duncan had smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "They gave you very good advice, Princess. You were raised right, by wise women."

Most of the time, when someone called her 'Princess,' it was an insult. He said it with respect, like it meant something. He said it like it was part of who she was, not something she had to hide.

She liked it. She shouldn't. She shouldn't let him do it. But she liked hearing it. She liked her title meaning something, even only inside the tenemos.

Sparring Duncan was hard. Her strength usually let her win fights, but against him, she had to work for it. He was faster and more agile than she would have thought, and he was canny and slippery. He lost as much as he won, but he always gave her hard fight.

The best part was at the end of a bout, he hugged her.

Not once did he treat her like a monster. Not once did he shy away from her. He wasn't afraid of her.

She liked that, too.

He gave her advice - most of it on being a Force Captain. She often thought he knew more than her trainers had. "If they won't clean, won't do their jobs, call them on it. It's not mean. It's necessary. Part of a soldier's job is to take care of their fellow soldiers! Remind them you rank them, and what you say goes. You may not be their Force Captain, but you're still a Force Captain, and orders are orders."

They didn't talk about the most important thing in their lives. They didn't talk about Adora. They both knew it wouldn't go anywhere good. It wouldn't make anything better. They couldn't fix anything.

It didn't stop them from trying. It didn't stop Scorpia from finding every way she could get to get Adora extra water rations. It didn't stop her from being there at every medical appointment. It didn't stop Duncan from building her confidence. It didn't stop Duncan from making her take breaks. Making her drink or eat.

It didn't stop her from checking on Adora a dozen times a night.

Adora barely slept. When she did, she slept lightly. She woke quickly, panicking and ready to fight. Even asleep, she tossed and turned, lashing out with fists and feet. Even asleep, Adora had good technique.

Every time it was safe to, Scorpia found a reason to stand up and glance at her cadet. The first few times, Adora wasn't asleep yet. She laid on her back, breathing slowly and carefully, the way Duncan taught them.

Her hands were clenched into fists around the sheets as she tried to push through what Scorpia knew had to be unimaginable pain.

Once the others had mostly gone to sleep or were ignoring her, Scorpia stood. She stretched. She walked around. Refilled Adora's water bottles, blatantly ignoring water rationing. She would blame it on people not cleaning. Somehow.

She might have missed it in the gloom of Adora's lamp, if not for Adora's reaction. Faint magic. A light dusting of red and gold light shimmering around her, emanating from her. The faintest hint of warmth in the air; the sudden scent of hot stone and clean rain in the air.

Adora smiled in her sleep. Her body went limp as she relaxed - except her hand. Her hand reached out, grasping, murmuring over and over again. Just one word. Just one name: "Catra."

The light around her didn't fade or vanish. Scorpia knew very little about magic. She knew it was a potent weapon, a versatile tool. She knew it was dangerous and unpredictable.

She knew this sleep wasn't normal. She knew she was supposed to tell Shadow Weaver, but Scorpia also knew Shadow Weaver wasn't safe. Shadow Weaver hurt Adora.

Realizing the others might not react well to Adora glowing in the dark, and one of them might go get Shadow Weaver, Scorpia tried to wake Adora. Surely, after weeks of magic training, she would know?

Adora didn't stir.

She mumbled: "Catra…please…" and rolled over, her hand still reaching out. Fingers outstretched; straining as she tried, desperately, to reach something only she could see or feel.

Blue light started to kindle under Adora's eyelids. The magic started to brighten. Scorpia felt her panic rise with the glimmering magic, and did the only thing she could think to do. She picked Adora up and wrapped her in a blanket.

Adora still didn't stir.

Scorpia held Adora in one arm. She was so light! For someone with so much presence, so much ability, she felt like she weighed nothing. Scorpia used her free pincer and her tail, grabbing Adora's clothes and jacket. Their packs. Adora's lamp. Adora's kiari.

Using both arms to carry Adora, Scorpia snuck out of the barracks and raced for the tenemos.

The silent halls were almost pitch dark; faint light came from some rooms, and soldiers wearing night-vision helmets patrolled the halls, but Scorpia didn't need to see them to know they were there.

Scorpioni could sense motion. Hear with more than their ears; their bodies were finely tuned to the movements of the world. The shift of dirt and stone. The motion of those in the tunnels around them. The guards were rank amateurs at walking the stone halls of the Dark Temple, and Scorpia barely had to think to avoid them.

She kept Adora as covered as she could, doing her best to time her movements so Adora's faint whispers didn't carry far. No matter how many times Scorpia tucked it closer to her body, Adora's hand reached out, desperately grasping.

"I'm here…don't go…I'm right here…" Adora's whispers sent chills down her spine and made her tail quiver. Thick with emotion, shaded with longing, with loss and fear, each whisper felt like a reminder Adora had lost everything and everyone she'd had just months ago.

Scorpia saw the guards at the door of the tenemos. They could never realize she had gone in. They couldn't know Adora was glowing. Whispering.

They would tell Shadow Weaver. Scorpia wouldn't allow it, but hiding bodies was a lot of work. She ducked into one of the alcoves dotting the Temple (she was sure they had meant something to the people who had built the place, but she had no idea what or why there were so many) and set Adora down.

With a savage bite and jerk of pincer, she broke stone off the wall, down low against the floor. There were other cracks and breaks down there already.

She faded across the hall, silent, and threw the stone - hard - down the hall at an angle. She heard it hit the wall at the other end of the hall. She heard it rebound and clatter. She heard it roll to stop. She heard the outcry from guards.

And the two guards in front of the tenemos looked at each other dashed down the hallway, batons out and flaring green - distorting their night vision.

Scorpia moved back across the hall and had Adora scooped up before the guards had gotten to the rock. She slipped into the tenemos, doors closed behind her (there were no locks on them - Duncan could not step outside the tenemos.) She heard Duncan stir from his small chamber.

Scorpia silently crossed the space as Duncan opened his door, face carved into a violent scowl, his fist curled around his wood cudgel.

"Duncan." Scorpia spoke softly. Barely more than a hissed whisper, as if afraid the shadows were listening. Because in the Dark Temple, they could.

Scorpia met his eyes as his arm dropped. She held Adora up, her arm still reaching; red and gold light coiled and curled around her, a faint aurora of magic whispering over her skin. Blue light burned behind her closed eyelids and her long blonde hair floated in a halo, flowing through the air.

Duncan's eyes widened and he stepped aside, letting Scorpia into his tiny room. She set Adora on the bed as he closed the doors and lit every light he had.

Like Scorpia, Duncan knew to fear shadows.

"What? How?" His whisper was coarse. Hoarse. Worried.

"She fell asleep. And started glowing. Won't wake up. Keeps asking for 'Catra' - a friend of hers who left the Horde before she was sent here. Catra leaving was bad for her. I don't know anything about her other than I think she was an actual magicat!"

Scorpia could hear it in her voice. Near panic. This wasn't covered in Force Captain orientation!

Duncan shrugged, confused. "Qadians - what they call themselves on Eternia - aren't common, but there's any number of Clans wandering around. They've got a settlement north of the equator - an old holy site, I think. Some island. Take it they're rarer here?"

Scorpia nodded. She knew what he was doing. Her mothers had done it too, when she'd gotten caught in her own head as kid. Distract her with other things until she could get her thoughts together.

She appreciated it.

But at least she had a theory where all the magicats had gone just before Hordak had come to Etheria.

"There used to a be a kingdom of them. Just beyond the Fright Zone. Halfmoon. The Nest was allied with them. They vanished, their forests burned. I guess maybe some went to the island?"

Duncan grunted. "Maybe. When did start?" He knelt, peeling the blanket off her. The magic brightened, surging. Duncan checked her over, inspecting her arms, hands, legs, and feet. His fingers paused at the red, angry lichtenberg figures. They covered her upper arms and her back. Scorpia knew they would wrap around her torso and abdomen. She saw how they ran up under Adora's shorts.

Shadow Weaver hadn't just 'corrected' her. Adora had been tortured - for hours.

"I don't see any wounds or glyphs on her. No puncture wounds, but it doesn't rule out something the old bitch made her drink." He winced. "Today was bad. If it keeps getting worse, the witch might kill her."

Scorpia knew she was supposed to correct him for the way he talked about Shadow Weaver, but she didn't.

"Less than two hours," she thought back. "I saw her like this and didn't know where else to go. I couldn't take her back to…" Scorpia stopped. She was just a few words from true disloyalty. From possible treason. From so much she didn't want to face in herself.

"No. You couldn't. You never take someone back to the person who hurt them if you don't have to." Duncan spoke softly, putting one hand on her pincer. "You did right, bringing her here. You and me, Princess. We can figure it out. We can take care of her. And - you are always welcome here. Always. With her or without."

Scorpia sat down on a large, heavy stone bench at the end of his bed. It was easily the sturdiest thing in the room - and the nicest. Unlike his standard-issue single bunk, the bench was white stone, smooth and rounded, carved from some of the nicest, strongest stone Scorpia had seen. It looked like part of the floor, built into the Temple itself.

"Do you know what's wrong? What's happening to her?" Scorpia had a thousand more questions for him and twice that many emotions racing through her, but she was a Force Captain of the Immortal Horde! Her cadet came first.

Duncan smoothed down his mustache. "No. I don't think it's hurting her. I have a theory, maybe. She's magic, Princess. We know that. The dark crone knows that. What her magic is - I don't think anyone knows that."

He gently rested a callused palm on her forehead. "Slightly feverish, but not bad. Her - "

As he started to speak, sickly red and gray energy flared to life, the manacles on his arms and throat burning hot and angry. He choked as the collar twisted around his neck, but he didn't move his hand. He just clenched his jaw shut and endured.

Scorpia couldn't help herself. She jumped down and hugged Duncan to her as he struggled against the magic. She felt him trembling from the effort, felt his hand tighten on her pincer as he threw his head back in a silent scream of agony.

When it ended, he sagged, gasping. "Thank you, Princess. You are true friend - to both of us."

Scorpia smiled, blinking through her tears. She finally had friends. Allies. People who trusted her. Welcomed her. And Shadow Weaver hurt both of them. Her instincts screamed as loudly as Duncan should have. Pushing her to stand and go find the sorceress and tear her limb from limb.

But Shadow Weaver would kill her, and it would leave Duncan and Adora without her. Like them, she was trapped by the sorceress.

"Anytime. If you can't answer - don't! You know who she is, don't you?"

"Yes." Duncan spoke with absolute certainty; absolute confidence. "I can never say more. Never hint at it. It doesn't matter how clever we get - her magic knows. It's dug into my mind, and it punishes me if I say anything revealing what she doesn't want known. Her own, perfect torture for me. One of many reasons I'll see her dead and her Temple burned to the ground one day. I swore it to her, you know. Now, I swear to you - on that day, Adora will be free."

Somehow, Scorpia knew. This was a solemn vow. This felt like more than the vow of warrior. More than the vow of a friend. There was a gravity and depth to it she didn't know how to name, but she knew.

Duncan of Eternia would see it done. And Scorpia knew. When the day came, she would let him. She might even help him.

Adora whimpered, her hand reached out again. Duncan's hand met Adora's, holding her smaller hand tenderly.

"We're here, Adora. You aren't alone, my lady. Not as long as we draw breath."

Scorpia saw the magic around Adora brighten again, steadily increasing in power.

"We don't know what her magic is, Princess. We don't know what the crone did, or what her magic rock did. This could be - a reaction to it. Or something else, entirely. Help me roll her over. It's brightening under her."

Scorpia and Duncan carefully rolled Adora over and saw: the angry red of the damage Shadow Weaver had wrought was receding; fading. Scorpia wasn't convinced the red-gold magic was malicious. Not if it healed.

"Catra…stay…please…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…" Adora's hand snapped out, almost catching Duncan's face, fingers spread wide as she grasped, desperately straining -

"…please…I don't know what I did…"

The light flashed, the magics twining around her turning into solid lines of red and gold fire. And on her back, two spots of golden light burned bright, between her shoulder blades and her spine.

Adora tensed once, her mouth open in a silent plea, tears streaking her face. One last whisper, barely heard, as Adora exhaled, finally slumping into real slumber. "...I'm sorry..."

The light faded, flickering out. Adora laid on Duncan's bed, soaked in cold sweat, but the damage wrought by Shadow Weaver was healed. She was finally actually asleep, clutching Duncan's thin pillow to her.

Duncan sank down, leaning back against his own bed. "So much I wish I could say right now, Princess. But what's not forbidden to me is this: we need to know more about this 'Catra.' My lady's heart sounded broken. If we know what happened, maybe we can help."

He sounded as tired as Scorpia felt. She sank down next to him. "All I know is records make it sound like they were close, from the creche on. Then, about two and a half months ago, she took Orphan's Right."

Duncan groaned. "She might be dead, then. Orphan's Right. Heard about that. Don't believe it."

Scorpia felt guilt squirming in her gut. Maybe because part of her thought he was right. Partly because she always felt bad defending the Horde to him. And partly because she wished there weren't reasons she should have to defend the Horde.

"I believe in it, because I know scorpioni orphans who have taken it and gone back to their nests. I escorted several myself. They came to me, asked, and I arranged it. It was easy. There's even paperwork for it!"

Scorpia had found Catra's paperwork. The reasons listed for taking Orphan's Right were her relationships with her squad -and Adora in particular. She was never going to let Adora see those papers.

Ever.

Duncan shook his head. "You, I trust. Kid comes to you for help, you'll help. The rest…hard to believe. And how could she go home if you think all the Qadians - magicats - are gone? No, I don't buy it. Our girl's closest friend, vanishing? Stinks of the crone's manipulations. For now, we'll make sure she rests. Let her get her routine back as best we can."

Scorpia studied his face. "She's important to you. She was important to you before you came here, wasn't she?"

He smiled. He carefully didn't nod. He carefully said nothing, but the flickers of gray-tinted red crackling around his neck told her all she needed to know.

She didn't need to know. She knew how much it would hurt Adora to know Duncan had answers about who she was, but couldn't tell her. Another torture Shadow Weaver inflicted on the two of them.

But Scorpia only needed to respect it. To let Duncan be devoted to Adora. Let him be there for her in any way he could.

She couldn't ask him. She didn't want to assume. But it made sense. Scorpia suspected - and the suspected Shadow Weaver knew - Duncan had come to Etheria to find Adora.

Duncan's Tenemos

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Three Months after Catra's abduction

Training never changed, but it was never the same. Duncan varied what he had Adora do, making sure her training was thorough, complete, and broad.

Duncan focused more on Adora than Scorpia, but Scorpia didn't blame him - or resent him. Adora was his task. His purpose. Adora was important to him. In ways he wasn't allowed to say.

She had been before Duncan had ever met her - something Scorpia never allowed herself to forget. The more she thought, the more she was convinced Duncan had come to Etheria from Eternia - whatever and wherever that was - to find Adora.

He had found her, and now he wanted to free her. He had no doubts about who Adora was. No doubts about what he needed to do.

Scorpia wished she had fewer doubts. For the first time, she doubted the Horde was inherently a force for good in Etheria - the force saving them from the terrors wrought by magic.

And the certain knowledge the Horde was killing Adora.

Part of her wanted to blame it all on Shadow Weaver, but she couldn't. She saw it everywhere now. The creeping ambition, the dark desire to conquer and hurt and control. Like Lord Hordak's dream was being corrupted by the very people he trusted to carry it out.

Her fear of Adora's exposure to the Black Garnet. The quiet, buzzing fear about Adora's own magic, already proven to be unpredictable and shocking. The fear her cadet might be overtaken by magic and driven as mad as her grandfather. Or twisted into something like Shadow Weaver.

She had laid one doubt to rest, at least. She had asked around about Catra. Mostly asking the creche workers and a few scorpioni gate guards she knew. (There were so few of her people in the military, she knew most of them. Most of them respected her and were willing to help her when she needed it, but they all knew she would do the same for them. And had.)

The creche workers knew her because Scorpia wanted to be them. She knew working with Adora had derailed that ambition, even if Lord Hordak assured her he still supported her ambitions to work in the creche. He mentioned it often in their regular correspondence.

There had been a couple of people who had talked about seeing another magicat around a couple of times. (Well they had said another 'cat hybrid like Weaver's pet') but they were very clear it was a male.

Which unfortunately tracked with Shadow Weaver reaching out to other magicats to find somewhere for Catra to go. It made it harder to think Duncan was right about Shadow Weaver killing Catra. Why else would another magicat - not from the Horde - be in the Fright Zone, much less the Dark Temple?

More things she might have to one day tell Adora. Scorpia was very bad with secrets. They weighed her down. Secrets were currency in the Horde. Scorpia knew Adora had more than a few of her own. The nature of her magic lessons with Shadow Weaver, for example.

It had been weeks since Adora's magic had healed her. Since she had cried out for Catra. In that time, not much had happened.

Adora had woken in Duncan's bed and they had told her (most) of what happened. They'd left out the part of her crying out for Catra. Adora had been scared, mortified, and grateful Scorpia had taken to the tenemos.

"I wouldn't have wanted them to know. Or have told Shadow Weaver. I…I don't want her to know, Force Captain. I know you have to tell her, but I'm - "

Scorpia had blown right through that. "I don't like how much she hurt you, Adora. Magic hurt you. Magic healed you. But it's your magic and if you don't want to tell her, I won't. You get to decide what she knows, okay?"

Adora had nodded. Duncan had been oddly silent, but Scorpia knew why; she knew to look now, to see the faint crackles of angry light around his throat.

Adora had gone to her sessions with Shadow Weaver as per usual, but she hadn't come back as hurt. She wasn't unhurt, either. As always, she was pale and shaking, but not as bad as that worst day.

One night, late, as they cleaned the tenemos, Adora had admitted something to Scorpia. "Ever since that night…it doesn't hurt like it used to. When she corrects me." Her voice had been small and quiet. Ashamed to admit what Shadow Weaver was doing. Ashamed to admit she needed 'correcting.' It made Scorpia's blood boil, but she wasn't sure what she could do.

"There's a - resistance, in me now. Something between me and the…the…" her voice had trailed off, pained and ashamed.

"Something in your magic protects you from the lightning now?" Scorpia had done her best to sound gentle. Supporting. Inquisitive. She thought it worked, because Adora had nodded.

"Yeah."

Adora had gone back to sweeping. Become very focused on sweeping. Scorpia had let her.

Duncan had finally spoken up. "Magic is not good or evil, my lady. Magic is. It can protect as much as harm. If I were you - and I know I am not - I would trust whatever magic protects you. It healed you. That kind of magic is no bad thing."

Adora had nodded. Thanked him. And kept sweeping.

But even with her protection, Adora's lessons with Shadow Weaver were not successful. Every time, Adora only told them one thing: "I failed."

Adora had been Scorpia's cadet for just over three months when she learned how much those words cost her. Because that was the first time Shadow Weaver put Adora in the tomb.

Shadow Waver came to the tenemos on the eighth day. The day after Adora's magic lesson.

Duncan drilled Adora with kiari. The sound of wooden swords echoed through the room as Duncan called a cadence of blocks and strikes. Adora was focused, flowing through the moves with a calm assurance that grew stronger each day.

But every time Adora tried to speed up, Duncan slowed her down.

"Patience! Speed and power are enemies in training. Mastery of technique is far more important than speed. Control of movement is greater than power. The more control you have over each movement, the better a fighter you are. Precision creates excellence, and muscle memory creates speed."

Adora nodded, bowing slightly. She slowed down, moving with more purpose and concentration and the rhythm of wooden blades hammering against each other resumed.

Shadow Weaver glided in, stopping a few steps inside the doorway. Scorpia watched Shadow Weaver, but Shadow Weaver watched Adora. Scorpia knew she wasn't the best at reading Etherian body language - or, really, anyone who didn't express emotions through pheromones like scorpioni did. She tried to pay attention to all the little things, she did! There were just so many of them!

But Shadow Weaver was extra inscrutable, hiding her face behind her mask and controlling her motions, her body, even her tone to such a degree Scorpia never knew what to expect from her or where she stood with the Horde's second in command.

Adora, to her credit, didn't lose focus. She kept her eyes and attention on Duncan, her moves just as crisp and graceful as they ever were.

Scorpia had no idea what to do. This was the first time Shadow Weaver had come to the tenemos while she and Adora were there.

She gave Shadow Weaver a small bow. It would be impolite and disrespectful not to acknowledge her, even if she devoutly wished Shadow Weaver wasn't there. Even if she wished she could strike the sorceress down for what she had done to Adora and Duncan.

Finally, Shadow Weaver spoke, her soft voice catching everyone's attention through presence and intonation alone.

"Enough for now, Adora. It is time for the next step in your magical training."

Almost as one, Duncan and Adora both lowered their kiari and stepped back from each other. They bowed, their hands straight in front of their sternums, their swords held behind their backs.

Adora turned to face Shadow Weaver, and Scorpia saw the look of pure hatred and contempt on Duncan's face before his expression became a blank mask. She knew he felt as helpless as she did.

Especially as long as the iron shackles bound him.

Adora bowed to Shadow Weaver the same way she had to Duncan, but a bit lower, a bit slower. Shadow Weaver inclined her head slowly, acknowledging the respect Adora gave her as her due, seemingly satisfied with her status in the tenemos.

"Yes, Shadow Weaver? What do you need me to do?" There was no eagerness in Adora; she didn't quite hide the quaver in her voice. Scorpia wouldn't have noticed it three months ago, but she heard it now. From the tightening of his shoulders, Duncan did, too.

Shadow Weaver waved one hand widely. "You had such difficulty mastering even the simplest of the concepts we covered yesterday, and I would like to address my part in those struggles."

Scorpia felt herself relax ever so slightly as Adora tensed more, her eyes darting side to side, as if looking for an escape. It didn't sound bad? It sounded like Shadow Weaver was trying to make up for something she had done wrong?

Surely, even Shadow Weaver could acknowledge making a mistake?

Maybe she realized she was too hard on Adora? Hurt her too much? That she had given in too much to the impulses of her magic during their lessons?

"You must take the proper time to reflect and meditate upon the nature of magic and your own connection to it. I have arranged a place for you to do this without distraction. Without interruption or interference. Come! Force Captain, you may come with us, if you wish."

Seeing Adora turn even paler than normal, seeing beads of sweat break out on her forehead, seeing the faint tremble in her hands convinced Scorpia she wasn't going to leave Adora alone if she could avoid it.

"I'll go change real fast, then." Adora's voice was quiet, barely louder than a whisper. She moved to hand her kiari to Scorpia. Shadow Weaver allowed her to carry it most of the time, but sometimes, she had been forced to leave it behind.

Shadow Weaver waved her off. "There is no need to change clothes and you may keep your little weapon, if you must, Adora. Come."

Adora and Scorpia both bowed their way out of the tenemos and followed Shadow Weaver through the chilled hallways of the temple complex. Adora's bare feet made little sound on the icy stone, and Scorpia saw her shiver.

Shadow Weaver took them down a hallway Scorpia had seen. It was dimmer, with only a few damaged overhead panels spilling flickering light to fight the gloom. A few turns later and they were in nearly complete darkness. And what Scorpia saw sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold air.

In the back of an empty, bare room, there was a perfectly circular hole cut into the stone; she could barely make out the wood ladder leading down into it.

Shadow Weaver looked at Adora. Her eyes glowed beneath her mask, wisps of smoke escaping around the glow. Her voice was almost gentle. Almost kind. Like the soft cut of a razor before the fear started.

"Magic requires focus and discipline to master. Magic requires dedication and understanding to connect to. Sorcerers meditate upon magic in darkness, seeing nothing until they can see the magic around them and in them. Down there, Adora, you will sit and you will meditate until I send Force Captain Scorpia to retrieve you."

Adora swallowed hard. "Wha - what's down there, Shadow Weaver?"

Shadow Weaver sighed. "Always with the questions, Adora?" Her hand gestured vaguely in Adora's direction, and Adora flinched, shying away.

"I'm sorry, Shadow Weaver. You're right." Adora bowed her head in shame, shrinking further into herself. "I should trust you to know what's best."

Shadow Weaver's head rose ever so slightly, acknowledging Adora's apology.

"Very good, Adora. The answer is nothing. There is nothing in this room or the one below but darkness and stone and magic, though it was once a tomb. You will have nothing but what you take with you - such as your childish fears. Meditate and reflect and find the magic, Adora. It is always waiting for you."

Scorpia had often thought about bravery. About the nature of courage. She was a soldier. How could she not? She hadn't come to many conclusions, but watching Adora slowly force herself, step by hesitant step, walk over to the ladder taught her more about courage than any of her reading or thinking ever had.

Adora was afraid of the dark.

Scorpia had seen it when the power had gone out in the bunk room the second night Adora had been in the Dark Temple. She had seen it when Adora was still awake when all the lights went off in the bunk room. She had never commented on it, mostly because she hadn't been sure how.

Now, she wished she had. She wished she'd known what to say to give Adora some comfort or hope for moments like this.

Slowly, breathing hard, trembling and sweating, Adora descended the ladder. Scorpia listened as Adora's feet hit the ground in the room below them. Peering down, she could see it was small and cramped, with barely enough room for Adora to stand up straight in.

"Sit, as I showed you. Meditate, as I taught you. Force Captain Scorpia will return for you when it is time."

Adora swallowed hard again; her voice was weak and trembling. "Yes, Shadow Weaver."

Shadow Weaver held her hand up and the floor flowed. Magenta light turned it to liquid and it rolled in a spiral, sealing the hole with grinding crunch of ancient rock forced to move against its will and the thunk of stone settling into place.

Where the circle had been was now smooth, polished stone; a seamless part of the floor. A circle of glowing red magic burned there, arcane symbols flickering in the air above the blank stone floor. Shadow Weaver turned to Scorpia.

"It will reopen in the morning, just after breakfast. Retrieve her and take her to Duncan for her training. I will see her at her appointed time."

Scorpia stood to her full height, eyes narrowing, cold rage stirring and growing as she took a single step toward the sorceress.

Lightning crackled around Shadow Weaver's hand as she dropped it to her side. "Do not disappoint me, Force Captain. Do not give into the temptations of misguided concern or misdirected frustrations. Interfering might be quite detrimental to your cadet. It would be unfortunate if my spell were unable to run its course, wouldn't it? If you must, remind Adora fear is a weakness and I have indulged her weaknesses long enough."

The faint glow around Shadow Weaver from the shard of the Black Garnet in her mask expanded, brushing over Scorpia. (She wasn't sure she had consciously realized that's what was in Shadow Weaver's mask before then.)

It made her feel sick.

"Well, Force Captain?"

Scorpia clenched her jaw. "Yes, Shadow Weaver."

With that, the sorceress glided away, leaving Scorpia to stare at the magic circle shimmering over perfectly smooth stone.

And Scorpia felt like crying.

Chapter Text

Duncan’s Tenemos

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Three months after Catra’s abduction

“She what?” Duncan’s voice rumbled like the thunder of a storm about to break, and with the heartbreaking despair of the helpless.

Scorpia nodded and sniffled. She was such a crier! She knew tears were considered a weakness, but she couldn’t help it. Right then, she didn’t care. She needed to cry.

Adora was her first cadet. Adora was her responsibility, and she had just watched Shadow Weaver seal her into a tomb, alone in the dark she hated so much. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Adora was her friend and Scorpia didn’t have many of those.

Scorpia knew Adora wouldn’t - couldn’t - call people friends anymore. She had the slightest idea why, but it was one more thing she didn’t push. It didn’t stop her from considering Adora a friend. They laughed together. Trained together. Ate together. Trusted each other.

They were Special Unit 1985.

Adora might be afraid to admit Scorpia was her friend, but she felt confident - Adora was her friend. Even if Adora couldn’t say it.

And her friend was being tortured. Even in the harsh and unpleasant reality of the Horde, how Shadow Weaver treated Adora was beyond anything Scorpia had ever dreamed possible. It spoke to the quiet horror of Adora’s life, and it made Scorpia acutely aware Adora had never had the normal cadet experience.

Nothing in Adora’s life had ever been normal.

Shadow Weaver had a purpose for her, and that purpose filled Scorpia with dread. Shadow Weaver’s plans were probably as awful as she was.

Duncan strode over to Scorpia and wrapped her in a crushing hug and her body jerked with the force of the sob.

“Let it out,” he whispered. “No shame in tears. No shame in feeling. Not with me. Not ever with me, Scorpia.”

His acceptance, his permission - Scorpia cried into his shoulder. For her failure to protect Adora. For her failure to understand how terrible her life must have been. How awful Shadow Weaver was to her. The terror she had to be going through.

When she cried herself out, she had revised her opinion of Shadow Weaver. Before, Scorpia thought of her as a victim of her own magic, twisted by power taken up for the Horde’s cause, driven by that same mad devotion to the cause to hurt Adora. Now, she knew better. Shadow Weaver was evil.

For the first time Scorpia could remember, she hated. She wanted to cause unspeakable harm to another person. Not just to protect - but because Shadow Weaver deserved to hurt. She wanted to use her prodigious strength to break Adora out of that tomb and just - run away. Anywhere.

And leave Shadow Weaver’s mangled corpse behind.

But where would they go? Outside the Fright Zone, there was the Crimson Waste and the Whispering Woods and the Princesses. Or worse - Subtheria. None of whom would want or welcome two Horde soldiers - even if they would probably welcome Duncan as one of their own.

Duncan.

Her friend. The man who had sat with her all night, watching over Adora. The man who knew who Adora was. The man who had never asked anything of her but that she be there for her cadet.

As they stepped away from each other, Scorpia gently caught his wrist in one pincer. The other closed around one of the shackles around his wrist, and she squeezed. Just a bit. Just enough to know if she wanted to, she could snap it and break him free.

"The second you break these, Shadow Weaver will know.” Duncan put a hand over her pincer and shook his head. “It’s not time yet. Not while our lady is down there. Not without a plan. We wouldn’t even make it to the gates. Not while she still believes. She can’t believe if we’re taking her out of here.”

He was kind. Gentle. Resigned. Scorpia had he was probably right. Hated knowing Adora wouldn’t act to free herself and might even return herself to Shadow Weaver, thinking Duncan and Scorpia had kidnapped her.

Thinking they had betrayed her. What would be left of Adora, then? She would have no one but Shadow Weaver and her trust in people would be shattered. There would be no putting her back together, no saving her, and no way to prevent Shadow Weaver from warping and twisting her into whatever terrible thing she wanted to remake Adora into.

Scorpia nodded and stepped back again. She slumped. “Part of me still believes in the Horde, too. But…this…I…”

Duncan walked over to one of the stone benches near the wall and sat down. He gestured to another. “Bring that over here, have a sit, and tell me why. I don’t understand, and I think I need to.”

His voice was weary, but patient. Right then, he reminded her a bit of her mothers, willing to take all the time in the world to sit and explain. It was nice.

Scorpia picked up another stone bench and set it down across from him as gently as she could. She sat.

Duncan clasped his hands. “Tell me why you believe. Help me understand. Help me help her.”

How many times had Scorpia played this conversation out in her head, convincing Duncan to join the Horde? Now, she was telling him so they could break Adora free of the Horde.

It wasn’t right, but nothing was right, anymore.

“The Horde saved my people.” It was a blunt statement, but it was true. “When Hordak and his few fellows crashed, we were already dying. My grandfather couldn’t control the RuneStone, and the magic was terrible. Mutated monsters coming up from below, slaughtering entire nests. The air and water and dirt were poisoned by chemicals leeching into it - from what, we don’t know. We didn’t have industry, then. There was a terrible disease - the rot. It ate our carapaces and people died in agony. It was awful.”

She sniffled again and wiped her eyes. “My whole brood was lost to poison or rot before my chitin hardened! I never got to know them. I was an only child in a race known for families of dozens. So many can’t have broods now, but it’s better than it was. So many of us were dead or dying, and we couldn’t reach out for help. The other kingdoms, the other Princesses…there were cultural differences. And they don’t seem to like how we look. They didn’t even trade with us! Our one ally in the world had vanished, seemingly overnight, their forests burning. We never did find out what happened to Halfmoon or the magicats, but we couldn’t help them any more than they could help us.”

Scorpia looked up, her eyes bright and wet with tears. “Hordak came to us with knowledge of how to clean the soil, clean the water. He told us it was the magic of the RuneStone killing us. Neither of my mothers wanted it. They were so afraid of it, afraid of what would happen if they failed, too. When Hordak told my grandfather he had to release it and let the magic go, he wouldn’t. He raged. Refused to give up the magic because he didn’t want to be weak.” She spat the word like it was dirty. “He didn’t want to be without magic. He clung to it and the problems got worse and worse. Hordak taught us more and more. We built massive plants to clean water to drink. We built factories to make bots to fight the monsters. We built them fast - we’re a race of crafters and builders and makers, and we’re good at what we do, but we couldn’t do it fast enough in the safe, clean way Hordak taught us. We needed them now, and my mothers said we begged - begged - Hordak to each us the faster way. He did, and now the Fright Zone is choked with smog, but our people were dying. We were going extinct and it was our own fault.”

It was her grandfather’s fault. His hubris. His fear. His need to have magic, to be bound to the RuneStone. The only Emperor to ever manage it.

Duncan reached a hand out and touched her pincer, squeezing slightly. “It is not your fault, Scorpia. You do not carry the sins of your family. You carry only your own pain. Don’t carry theirs, too.”

She laughed, resettling on the bench. “Yeah. My Moms said that, too. They would have liked you, I think. I know I like you!”

Duncan grinned. “I like you, too. Did Hordak save your people?”

Scorpia nodded slowly. “Yes. He made us send emissaries to the other Kingdoms, and some did help! Plumeria sent food. So much food. Bright Moon sent people and supplies to rebuild. Doctors. Aid workers. Salineas and Snows were too far away, but the King of High Mount sent our emissaries away bleeding. We traded technology for more help, but the other kingdoms didn’t want technology. They wanted promises we couldn’t make. I don’t know what, because my mothers never told me. Finally, near the end of his life, my grandfather did give up the RuneStone, but Hordak said it was too late. The land was poisoned by magic, and it couldn’t be reversed by magic. Not without a RuneStone like the Heart’s Blossom or the MoonStone, but the other Kingdoms refused to bring their RuneStones into our borders. They didn’t trust Hordak. My grandfather gifted him the RuneStone and named him heir. After he died, Hordak renamed the Empire. Created the Horde. Recruited from everywhere. Accepted anyone who wanted a second chance!” She almost bounced off her bench in excitement. “He took in orphans, too. Orphans left to die. Orphans no one else wanted. Orphans like Adora! And - by then - me. The carapace rot got my mothers, but even with no cure, Hordak’s medicines kept them - and so many others - from dying in pain. They went quietly and peacefully. There’s a vaccine for the rot, now. And a cure. One of the Horde scientists created it a few years ago!”

Duncan smiled. “I would never argue letting anyone die with dignity being a bad thing. Nor would I speak ill of anyone crafting a cure or a vaccine to save a people."

She sniffled again. “The Horde raised me. And…I saw. The damage magic did to our land, because one man didn’t want to give up his power. So little grows, and the other Kingdoms were only giving us so much. Maybe it was all they could give, and maybe it wasn’t. I just know we were going to starve to death…but then, Hordak made ration bars! They don’t taste great, but no one starves! Water rationing is a thing, but we have clean water.”

Duncan was nodding, but there was something speculative in his eyes. Something calculating. “I can see why you have faith in the Horde, then. But does what is happening to Adora - does that fit what you think the Horde is? How does the war against the other kingdoms fit in?”

Scorpia sighed and spread her pincers. “I worry about the war. Wonder about it, but I also worry. Our purpose is to stop it from happening again. To keep magic from destroying the rest of Etheria. My grandfather spent his life studying magic to take on the RuneStone, but look what it did? Are the other peoples of Etheria suffering, too? Are they plagued by magic in different ways?”

Duncan stared at her for a long minute. He tugged at his beard, and then sighed. And shook his head.

“No. They thrive, in their own ways. The Queen of Bright Moon is wise and kind. The King of Salineas, Mercia, is old, but his daughter is strong and will grow into wisdom. I don’t know much about Plumeria or Snows, but what I saw on my way to the Fright Zone - no. They don’t suffer from anything except the Horde trying to conquer them. I have to ask, Princess. If magic has been part of Etheria for so long, why is the rest of the world lush and green and it is only here magic has poisoned things?”

Scorpia looked down at the floor. “Yeah. I’d wondered.”

She had. She hadn’t seen any of the rest of the world, but she’d wondered - if magic was always corrupted and always destroyed, how had the world survived so long? Hordak said it was because there were always those working against the Princesses, and history agreed with him, but - was he right?

She wanted him to be.

She looked up, grabbing all the determination she had. She was about to break their unspoken rule - they didn’t talk about Adora. She didn’t know what it would do, but she knew she trusted Duncan. Maybe she shouldn’t trust Duncan, but she did.

“Adora is special, isn’t she?”

Duncan nodded. “Yes. Yes, she is. More special than you know. More than I can tell you while I wear these. She might be more special than I knew, given she has magic.”

Scorpia slumped, but nodded. She wouldn’t ask him to endure what Shadow Weaver’s shackles did to him. She wouldn’t ask him to die in pain to tell her. “Then - I’ll figure it out on my own. I will. Adora deserves it.”

Duncan smiled. “She does. And I have every faith in your, Princes. How did she come to the Horde? Do you know?”

Scorpia felt a faint sense of relief. They were talking about Adora, and she could actually contribute. Nothing had changed. Duncan was treating her just as he always did. She knew some of the answers! It was a Force Captain’s duty to know her cadet.

“Nope!” She shrugged. “Her records don’t say much. Adora was a baby and Hordak found her. There were some medical things redacted in her file, but I found out some. Like she’s not any kind of Etherian we know about? Shadow Weaver raised her and put her with a class of special command cadets. I know they - tested her. A lot. Medically. It wasn’t good. We know about Catra - and we know she’s probably still alive.”

Scorpia couldn’t bring herself to say it. The doctors had tortured Adora as surely as Shadow Weaver was. If she said it out loud, she didn’t know what she might do. What the cost of that would be. If they tried to flee and failed, the price for Adora would be more than Scorpia could imagine.

That didn’t stop her from wanting to.

“I am both surprised - and grateful - to know that. I may not believe Orphan’s Right isn’t usually a lie, but knowing it’s not always a lie helps. It means there is real hope for my lady to cling to. That someday, she may see her friend again. Get answers.”

Duncan sighed. “She’s going to need us tomorrow when she gets out. No matter how hard she tries to shut us out, we can’t let her. No matter what, we have to stand with her and stand for her when no one else can or will.”

Scorpia nodded.

Paused.

“Duncan. Your imprisonment. How does it - well, work?”

He waved his hand around the room. “Not bad as prisons go. Been in worse. I can’t leave the tenemos, but they bring me ration bars and water, and I have the run of this place. Not sure why the crone gave it to me, but she did. Beating on Horde soldiers and now training my…” he grunted as red light flared around his wrists. “My lady Adora. It’s insidious because she knows it gives me purpose even as it is slow torture. One day, Princess, you won’t believe as much anymore. One day, Adora won’t believe as much anymore. On that day, I am going to make good on my promises to Shadow Weaver and we are getting out here. I promise that, too.”

Again, Duncan spoke with that surety. That confidence. As if he were stating facts or prophecy, not the impossible.

Scorpia stared at her pincers. And spoke treason - because it was the right thing to do. Her mothers would want her to right more than loyal. “What if I think I’m ready now?”

Duncan put a hand on her shoulder. “Then I will know my faith in you was never misplaced. Then I will be very proud of you. And I would tell you we have to wait for Adora to be ready. Right now, it would crush her. She would feel like a failure and a coward, and she might not make it out alive. Shadow Weaver has too much of a hold on her. Tracks her too carefully. She would fight us if we tried to take her away from here. We have to wait and endure with her, for her. When she’s ready, we’ll know.”

She knew what he hinted at. Shadow Weaver had her shadows and it was well known she knew almost everything that happened to Adora. (One of the reasons Scorpia lived in fear of the night she’d seen Adora’s magic.) She could see through shadows and find Adora anywhere - and if Adora wasn’t ready to escape, she might turn on Duncan and Scorpia.

Scorpia bowed her head. “I think I hate Shadow Weaver. Putting Adora in the dark like that. We know what she does in her magic lessons!” She flailed a bit, her tail flicking. “But…I can’t…”

“Neither of us can, Princess. Neither of us can. Yet.” Duncan stood, putting both hands on her shoulders. “But you are a strong and noble warrior, Princess Scorpia of the White Winds. And I am a stubborn old fool. We see Shadow Weaver for what she is and whether the Horde is the horror I think it is or the saviors you want it to be, Shadow Weaver is a blight who needs to be dealt with.”

Scorpia leaned her cheek against his hand. “Yeah. She can’t be right, can she? About this being good for Adora’s magic training?”

“No idea.” Duncan shrugged and sat down next to her. Yet again, even after her tail had moved, he wasn’t afraid of her. He never looked at her the way others did - like she was wrong somehow, for just existing.

“I was once - very close - to a powerful sorceress. Without her and the oaths she asked me to swear, I never would have been able to come here. She is nothing like Shadow Weaver. As wise as she is beautiful. As kind as she is powerful. As compassionate as she is knowledgeable. She spoke little of her training, but she did tell me once that magic could only be found when nothing else was between you and it. I think she meant the things we put in our own way. Knowing how you two were raised in the Horde, Adora is very afraid of magic. That’s a block I don’t think Shadow Weaver can get around, but that won’t mean she isn’t going to try to force Adora to.”

She knew Duncan was right. Given Scorpia’s own fear of magic, Adora’s had to be worse, because she had been raised by Shadow Weaver. How had she turned out as good as she had?

(Scorpia wondered if Catra had been a part of that, somehow. It would make Shadow Weaver getting rid of her make even more sense, but she didn’t want Duncan to be right about the Horde. She just knew he was.)

Scorpia rested her elbows on her knees. “Can we help her?”

“We can only try.” Duncan pulled a knee up. “Not sure how yet, but we’ll figure it out.”

Scorpia paused again. She forced herself to ask. “Can I sleep here tonight? I don’t want to go back to the bunk room right now. I just…need…”

Duncan turned and looked her right in the eyes. “Scorpia, I meant what I said. You are welcome here anytime you want, for as long as you want. You are welcome to stay here and wait for Adora.”

She took another deep breath. “Will you train me, too? Teach me? Can you even…?” She held up her pincers.

“Of course I can. Those aren’t a problem. Kirith is principles for techniques as much as techniques. Come on. Let’s get started. Boots off, and remember to bow. By the time Adora is ready, none of them will be able to stop us from leaving.”

The Hole

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Three months after Catra's abduction

Grinding stone overhead told her it was finally over.

Light gradually spilled in, but Adora didn't move. She wasn't sure she could. She sat cross-legged, just in front of the ladder. Her kiari was gripped in a fist that wouldn't uncurl. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. Her tunic was soaked in sweat, and her jaw hurt from clenching it together.

The light stung her eyes, making them tear up, even as dim as it was. She wanted to move, but she couldn't. She needed to move. Her mind was screaming at her to move, but it felt like the signal from her mind wasn't making it to her limbs.

At least she had stopped shaking. She wasn't sure how long ago she had stopped shaking, but she had.

"Adora? Umm…are you as…okay as you can be?" A shadow fell over the hole above her, and she knew it was Scorpia. She wanted to answer. She did. She wanted to speak. She wanted to reassure her Force Captain she would be up in a minute.

Adora, using every shred of willpower she had, slowly, agonizingly slowly, raised her hand, just a little, her kiari with it. Her muscles ached, stiff from however many hours she sat there, trying to meditate. Trying to reach for her magic.

Magic that never came.

Part of her wished she didn't know she had magic. Part of her wished she could just tell Shadow Weaver she was wrong, but Adora knew better. Adora knew Shadow Weaver was right about her. She knew she had magic. She had used it to heal Catra.

The thought of Catra still cut. She felt the emptiness in her chest. The ache. She felt the fear and anxiety buzzing, sharp-edged. The panic. The guilt. That Adora had been too much. She had isolated Catra. Pushed Catra away until she had left. Left the Horde. Left the Fright Zone. Left Adora.

Her eyes stung from tears now, but she couldn't muster the energy to fight them.

She had failed again. However long she'd been sealed in the dark, desperate to reach out to her magic, desperate for light, for air, to see something…

She had tried to meditate. She had tried to wrestle her fears. She had failed. She knew at one point, she had been curled in a ball around her kiari, sobbing. She knew at one point, she thought she had maybe slept, but she wasn't sure if it was sleep or something else.

She had tried. She had failed.

Slow. It was all she could do. Slow. Everything hurt. Every part of her was stiff. Carefully, Adora did what she did best. She was methodical. First rolling her wrists and the fingers of the hand not holding her kiari. She extended both arms, rolled her neck and shoulders.

She fell onto her side, then extended her legs, gingerly, letting feeling return to them. She gasped as pins and needles stung her, but she forced herself not to stop. She wiggled her toes, bent her ankles, flexing her feet and calves.

She pushed herself up on all fours, flexing her hips and back. Then reached up and grabbed a rung on the ladder and pulled herself to her feet. Her head swam. The world spun, and spots flickered in her vision, but she pulled up again, dragging herself up the ladder. She held herself by one arm for what felt like an eternity while her feet found purchase.

Rung by rung, Adora dragged herself up the ladder. It felt ten times taller than it had when she'd gone down. Finally, she was blinking into the dim light of the empty chamber, shivering and coughing as Scorpia reached down and gently pulled her up the rest of the way, easily lifting her out of the hole and away from the ladder.

Carefully and gently, Scorpia set her down, let Adora find her footing before letting go. But as she did, Adora stumbled, her legs nearly giving out. Scorpia caught her again.

"Come on, lean on me. There you go. I'm a big girl. I can support us both, okay?"

Adora didn't want to. She wanted - needed - to stand on her own, but she didn't have a choice. She leaned against Scorpia, soaking up the older woman's warmth and even let herself take some comfort from her.

Just some. She didn't really deserve to be comforted. She kept failing. She had made Catra leave. She didn't deserve support. She had failed. Again. She had to do better. Be better. More than she was.

"Thanks."

Scorpia smiled brightly at her. "Hey, what are friends for if not to lean on?"

Adora laughed softly, bitterly. She was still determined to face her truths. All of them. No matter how much they hurt or how much they cost her. "You don't want to be my friend, Force Captain."

Adora gritted her teeth as Scorpia helped her limp away from the hole, every muscle protesting. The steadily increasing light was too bright and stung her eyes. Her legs burned from being motionless for so long.

Scorpia faltered, looking at Adora, aghast. "Aww, don't say that about yourself! You can't mean that! I'm sure you're a great friend to have!"

Adora coughed, her mouth dry. Dry enough her throat hurt. She tried not to lean on Scorpia too much. She could make it on her own soon. Her legs were starting to work right again. She had to. She forced herself to stand, feeling the world spinning around her, her muscles trembling.

"Well, my last friend literally asked to go back to the people who abandoned her in a cardboard box rather than stay near me. I'd say my track record isn't great. I like you too much to put you through being my friend, Force Captain. But thanks."

Always too much, but never enough. Why am I so broken that I can't do anything right?

At least she was smart enough and brave enough to warn Scorpia. Her Force Captain would eventually figure it out.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry or pass out - but the idea of closing her eyes also terrified her. The idea of being in the dark again was too much. The fear rippling through her was almost overwhelming at the thought, much less the reality.

"Adora…" Scorpia started, seemingly unsure was to say.

Adora shook her head. "My fault. I own that, Force Captain. If I do nothing else right, I own it when I make mistakes. Just tell me. How long?"

Scorpia sighed. "Eighteen hours, give or take. I…Adora, I'm sorry you had to…"

Adora nodded. It had felt both longer and shorter, but she had to face reality. Unless she suddenly got really good at magic, she was going to end up back down there again. And it would be worse.

"It'll be longer, next time. Just so you know."

Scorpia did stop this time, turning to face Adora, practically holding the smaller girl up by her shoulders. "Longer? Next time?"

Adora nodded, then reached up to pat Scorpia's pincer. "Yeah. Longer next time. I can't avoid it. I asked for this and she warned me." She coughed again, her voice getting raspier. "Not this, in particular. But training. I get to learn to be a warrior. A champion of the Horde. In return, I learn to use my magic - whatever it is. She told me it would be hard. She didn't lie to me."

Scorpia scowled. "What do you mean, she didn't lie to you? Adora, Shadow Weaver almost never tells the truth! Everyone knows that! It's practically in the handbook, or would be if we had an actual handbook!"

Adora shook her head. "That's where everyone's wrong, Force Captain. She raised me and…she raised a bunch of us, okay? She almost never outright lies. She hates being lied to. I think she sees lying as a weakness and a sign of stupidity. Of not being able to think of a way to use the truth to get what you want. That's what she does. She tells the truth to make you see it certain way. To get her point across, but she does what she says she'll do. I'm getting trained. Good, really good training. Now, I have to uphold my end of the bargain. It's not what I expected, I hate it, but I can't claim she didn't warn me."

She pulled away from Scorpia on weak, wavering knees. "Shadow Weaver never breaks a promise, even if she doesn't always fulfill it the way we think she will. She almost never lies, and she almost never tells you the whole truth or the truth in a way that helps you how you want to be helped. And if she thinks you have her figured out, she'll change the rules on you. She loves to win, she hates to lose, and she's never wrong. Even if she is."

Scorpia shook her head. "That doesn't - that doesn't sound like someone pleasant to be raised by."

Adora tried to wet her mouth. "I need water. Days like this, I hate rationing. Not pleasant, no. But she believed in - well, me, anyway." She sighed, feeling the weight of another way she had failed Catra crushing down on her, making that empty place in her chest ache more. "She taught us, Force Captain. She pushed us, made us think, forced us to grow, to do better. Over and over again, when others might have given up on us, she never did. Never has. That - counts for a lot."

Scorpia nodded tersely, finally seeming to accept what Adora was telling her. "You still have your ration from yesterday. You only drank at breakfast, and I got bottles for you at lunch and dinner. Your three from yesterday are still full, and I filled up yours for today while you were down there. And as Force Captain, I can authorize you more water if I need to, and I will if you need it."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking as stern as Adora had ever seen her. She wasn't budging on this.

But Adora couldn't. Too much special treatment was a dangerous path. She already knew that.

She shook her head. "I'll be fine with what I have."

"No, Cadet. You won't." Scorpia's voice was just as stern as her face. "As your commanding officer, your health and well-being are my responsibility, and I take that seriously. Not only will you be issued more water today, I will also be issuing you electrolyte packets for at least four bottles. Okay?"

The last words was said with Scorpia's normal hesitance, and she was biting her lower, lip, but she wasn't budging.

I have to give her at least this. Even if I pay for it later. Adora nodded. "Yes, Force Captain. Understood."

Scorpia reached out and all but forced Adora to lean on her again. "First! We are getting you to the tenemos where Duncan will let you use his shower, you will eat something - I saved you a yellow ration bar, because I know you like them - and then he'll stop worrying and pacing!"

Adora blinked. "Duncan is…worried? About me?"

Scorpia rolled her eyes fast and hard enough Adora was a little worried she might hurt herself. "So was I!"

She stared down at her bare feet, then looked up, still more than a little shell shocked. "Yeah. We should let him know I'm okay."

Almost grumbling, Scorpia pulled Adora up to the point she was nearly being carried, shuffling down the hallways slightly faster.

Adora understood a few words of Scorpia's grumble, most notably something she'd thought herself. "You're not okay."

Scorpia wasn't wrong about that. Adora hadn't been okay since Catra had left.

Duncan's Tenemos

The Dark Temple

The Fright Zone

Etheria

Three months after Catra's abduction

"Do you want me to ask about your magic?"

Adora started, almost losing the flow of the slow, smooth form Duncan was working through with her. He had started her on the slow forms the day she had gotten out of the tomb, almost a week before. He did this form with her, the excruciatingly slow, graceful movements somehow not out of place, even compared to the crisp, powerful movements she knew he was capable of.

His movements mirrored hers in some places. In others, they countered hers, as if they were dancing a fight. Adora both loved and hated the slow forms, because they were beautiful and let her focus on her movements, her breathing, her stances, more than the faster ones. But they were also slow and Adora wasn't very good at slow.

He hadn't said why he'd started teaching her the slow forms, but she'd been grateful. The slow, careful movements had let her recover after being in the tomb. (That, and the hot shower and three hour nap he and Scorpia had insisted on.) He'd also put her through a flexibility and stretching routine they did every day now, forcing her muscles to get more and more limber. It was already working.

"Not really, no." Adora was always honest with Duncan, but since finding out he'd been worried about her, it had felt more important to be honest with him. Since finding out he'd been worried about her, she had felt closer to him. Seen more of the little things he did for her. Seen more of the little gestures. The hidden affection he almost, but didn't quite show.

"I figured as much. How about I talk about magic and you listen? Because if you have magic, it's going to end up integrated into your fighting."

That was Duncan's way of telling her he had found a reason his limited authority over her let him talk to her about magic, no matter what she might want. Because he thought it was necessary. It would irritate her more than it did if she didn't suspect he was right, and if she didn't know he actually cared.

Something she was still having trouble coming to terms with. Why did he care about her? Her guardian was literally holding him prisoner in an underground room. It was a comfortable prison, but he was still a prisoner. Bound from speaking of things by threat of torture. Even death.

Things about her. Things she desperately wanted to know, but she'd seen what the shackles did to him the very first day she'd met him. She couldn't bring herself to ask. Or even hint at wanting to know.

She wished Scorpia was there. Not that she would tell the Force Captain. As much as Adora liked and trusted Scorpia, Adora knew she had to keep her at a distance. Otherwise, she would lose Scorpia as surely as she'd lost Catra. She would push Scorpia away, make her want to leave, too.

Duncan was safer, because he couldn't leave. Maybe if she pushed too much, he would give in to Shadow Weaver, but she got the feeling he didn't even know how to give in. She could let him get a little closer. Maybe. She hadn't decided yet.

But it was one of the rare days Scorpia had duties elsewhere in the Horde. Usually, training to keep up her qualifications and maintain her rank. Scorpia always seemed to have fun with it, but Adora hated these days. Not being alone with Duncan, but not having all of her people close to her.

She was also afraid Scorpia wouldn't come back, but she wasn't going to let herself think too much about those feelings.

It was selfish and she knew it. So she didn't say anything. She wouldn't let her selfishness, her weakness, her being needy and clingy, get in anyone else's way. Not ever again. She would be stronger than that. Stronger for them. They deserved her strong.

"I have magic." She pushed the words out through clenched teeth, careful not to miss her next movement. Her bare feet slid across the warm wood floor, finding the next position easily. "I don't like that I have magic."

"Hmm." Duncan kept up his flow without a tenth of her effort, and Adora internally scowled at herself. She needed to learn how to do the same. "That might be part of your problem, my lady."

This time, she scowled at him as she stepped into the next stance, her arms slowly following as she came up in the counter for the move he was leaning into. Perfectly timed. That was much better. "Not liking that I have magic is my problem with learning magic?"

Duncan shook his head as they turned into the last part of the form, done side by side as perfect mirror images of each other. "Your feelings about magic may be the problem. I knew a sorceress very well once, and I've met many other magicians over the years. Heard them talk about magic."

Adora made herself listen and tried to trust her body to remember the movements. Tried to trust herself not to mess up.

"Relax. The slow forms are about natural movement. Letting your body do what feels right, not what looks right. Don't force your body. Let your body tell you how to move. Don't think about it. Just move. Don't fight it. Feel it. You'll know when it feels right. Trust your body, my lady. It knows what it's doing. And so do you."

Adora let her attention drift back to her breathing, remembering him explaining breath was life. Energy in, energy out. Breath was central; without air, you died. More than food or water, breath was life. Breath was focus. Breath allowed control. Breath was the first skill and the last skill. It permeated everything; was part of every form, every technique, every movement.

"Better." Duncan smiled from behind her. She could almost feel his smile. "Very good, my lady. Very good."

She felt a rush of warm pride at his praise, but she forced herself not to focus on it. She had done one thing good. That didn't mean she was good at the slow form or she was a good student or a good warrior. There was no need to get ahead of herself.

"What do my feelings about magic have anything to with not being able to use magic?" Adora hadn't planned on asking. She'd planned on letting him talk and learning what she could, but the question burbled up and escaped before her mind could tell her mouth she wasn't going to ask.

"Magic is tied to emotion. And intent. Every magician I've had to fight lost because they let their emotions overwhelm them, usually anger or fear. Magic responds to emotion in the magician." He sighed and led the way into the final sequence. "Magic was described to me as an energy permeating the world, affected by the world. It's endless and limitless, and it reflects the world. Magics of life and death. Light and dark. Magics of nature and magics of technology. Magics of pain and magics of joy - those were the words she used."

Duncan and Adora flowed through the last sequence, perfectly in sync, coming back to the stances they started from. They both bowed at the end before stepping back and slowly moving their limbs to reset themselves.

"If magic reflects the world, then when someone uses magic, the magic reflects the user. I've seen it a hundred times. Not just the way the magic works, but the choices a person makes about what magic they use and how they use it. But the lesson that truly taught me about magic was learning intent is key in using it. The sorceress I knew told me she had to have a calm mind to use magic right. Others have said desperation or need drove them to find their magic or use their magic in new ways."

He strode over to the weapons rack where their kiari waited. Adora was glad to have hers back in her hand; the wooden sword had been her lifeline in the dark hole. Feeling it in in her hand, moving it around, touching it, had kept her grounded. Focused. Kept her from going mad.

She hadn't been able to sleep the night after the hole. She had stayed up all night, the small lamp Scorpia had given her casting warm yellow light over her bunk as she'd cleaned and polished her kiari.

She bowed to him as she took the weapon from him.

"If you don't like having magic, Adora, then do you really want to use it? Do you really intend to use it?"

Adora walked to the middle of the tenemos and stood, waiting. When Duncan stood across from her, she bowed. Hand straight up, thumb bent and against her sternum, her sword behind her back.

Duncan bowed back and they stepped into their opening stances.

"I guess not." Adora blocked his first strike, and realized this would be a free-form practice. Good, because they could keep talking. Bad, because Duncan always won those easily, no matter how hard Adora tried.

She wasn't sure she would ever be good enough to hold her own against him, much less win against him. "Which, if you're right, means I never will."

Fear crawled up her back and settled in her gut. How long could she survive with Shadow Weaver teaching her if she never managed to do it - just because she didn't want to?

How could she make herself want to use magic? Was Shadow Weaver trying to make her afraid enough, hurt her enough, she would be forced to want to use her powers - whatever they were? How could she blame Shadow Weaver for going that direction, when fear had driven her one successful use of magic? When nothing else had encouraged her to use it?

(And what if her powers were just healing, and nothing else? Was Shadow Weaver trying to force her to heal herself?)

Their kiari tapped against each other again and again, and Adora's panic drove her to move faster, but for once, Duncan didn't correct her.

"I know I'm right, Lady Adora. But it's not as bad as all that. You just have to answer one question: why don't you like having magic?"

As per usual, when Duncan asked her a question in that tone of voice, Adora knew he already knew the answer and was going to make her figure it out on her own. She hated that, but she knew it was actually good for her. Duncan and Shadow Weaver wouldn't always be around to give her the answers. She had to learn to find them for herself.

The problem was, Adora knew she wasn't very smart. Not like Duncan. Or Scorpia. Or - Catra.

Catra was the smartest person Adora had ever known. She figured things out the fastest. Remembered things the clearest. Could learn anything.

And Adora still missed her right then just as much as she had that first day. She was fairly certain she would never not miss Catra. That feeling was a part of her now, like always being thirsty or never being able to sleep as much as everyone else.

One day, when she had authority and had earned it, she would find Catra's home. She would find Catra. And she would apologize to her first and best friend for everything she had ever done wrong. She had until then to figure out everything she had done wrong, but she figured she was good at figuring that out, if nothing else.

They sparred in silence for several long minutes, their kiari snapping against each other rapid fire as Duncan calmly held Adora at bay, forcing her to search for an opening that wasn't a trap, a hesitation, a deliberate pause - anything. The few sallies Duncan launched at her were met by her frantic defense, her sword darting in and out to block his, even as she resorted to very undignified dodging and twisting to keep away from his weapon.

She hated it, but Duncan had already taught her that lesson. The best way to keep from taking a hit was to avoid it entirely.

"Magic is what the enemy uses." Adora was gasping for breath, but got the words out anyway. "Magic is what drives them mad! Magic is poison! It's too much for us to use! I don't want to go mad! I don't want to be like the people who have it! It - it - corrupts."

Magic hurts. Except that once, with Catra, I've only seen it hurt. I don't want to hurt people. I'm not like that! I won't be like that!

Adora was gasping from fear and near-panic now as much as from exertion. Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking.

Duncan slowed his pace a little, and Adora followed suit.

"You're scared." His statement fell into the room and drove her to silence, his words hanging in the air, a pronouncement of her weakness, her failure, her lack of ability to do what she had to do.

Adora nodded.

"You're not just scared of having magic, but of magic." This time, Duncan stepped back entirely, disengaging.

Adora nodded again, stepping back.

"Good." Duncan let his arm hang loosely at his side. "Anyone who has power should be scared of it. But you're beyond reasonable fear, my lady. You are trapped by emotion, and that is dangerous. Magic is like any other skill or power. It doesn't change us unless we let it. Unless part of us wants it to. Power - magic or otherwise - amplifies who and what we already are. You have magic. Being afraid of your own magic means you are afraid of yourself."

Adora swallowed hard. What if you already didn't trust yourself? What if you already knew you weren't good at being a person? That you might even be the wrong kind of person?

Duncan must have seen something in her eyes, because he sighed. "Lady Adora, you are your own worst enemy. We all are our own worst enemies." He stepped back and jabbed his kiari at her. "What is anger?"

"Anger is defeated self!" Adora shot back, the answer he had drilled into her coming to her easily.

His wooden sword didn't waver.

"What is fear?"

"Fear is a warning. To be aware. To be careful. To think. To pause and consider." Again, the response, drilled into came up without thought.

Duncan nodded. "Warriors cannot give into anger. To fear. To despair. To sadness. We cannot be overcome by joy. By happiness. Lulled into complacency by contentment. We should let the dark emotions pass over us, through us. Experience them, live them, but do not let them rule. Do not give them a voice! We should seek and welcome those lighter, better emotions. Live them. Cherish them. But when we fight, we cannot let emotion guide us. We cannot let it influence us."

Adora nodded, again, repeating. "We must be beyond fear and next to hope. We must disdain anger and we must seek joy, but they cannot lead us and we cannot follow them."

"Good! The same applies to magic. It won't be fast. It won't be easy. But you must face your fear of magic and your fear of having magic, or you will never master your magic. If you do not master your magic, you run a terrible risk, my lady, of letting your magic master you. I know you can do this. You just have to learn to know you can, too."

Adora nodded. But she had no idea how to do that when she already knew she was failure.

His sword whistled through the air, coming right at her. Adora blocked, twisting into a follow up strike.

"Good!" Duncan's attack routine was fast, hard, crisp. Adora met him as best she could, but already knew she was over matched. "Every strike is a block; every block, a strike. Each move flows into the next. Movement and intent; thought and action as one, my lady!"

Adora, seeing him pause, stepped into an attack routine of her own, doing her best to push him back, give her space to work with.

"Kirith is a combination of ancient fighting techniques and modern scientific principles; an unending flow of motion - every move creates a specific reaction in your opponent. Each reaction leads to your next move."

Duncan calmly pushed her back instead, doing nothing but blocking and defending. The sound of wooden swords clacking echoed, forcing him to project, his teacher's cadence reverberating through the room. "Action and reaction. Every action has - and causes - an equal and opposite reaction. Make your reaction an action in and of itself instead of just a reaction."

Again and again, Duncan alternated between attack and defense, forcing Adora to move backwards. "You react to magic. You let your reaction control and define you. You refuse to seek control of your reaction. You fear control of your magic - and it controls you. Your magic cannot change you or corrupt you if you master it!"

Duncan slowed his assault and Adora stepped back, gasping for breath. "Control, my lady. Focused mind and control of self. Train your spirit as you train your body. Develop inner strength, balance and harmony as you learn. A warrior is more than a master of fighting. A warrior is a master of themselves. Your magic is part of you. You must accept that first, then you can begin to control the magic - before it gets control of you. Before it - again! - acts without your will."

He guided her over to the benches, setting a bottle of water in front of her. "With magic, your intent is to avoid it. Having it. Using it. Magic responds to that intent. You have no control of it, and that should scare you. A lot more than having magic does. Trust yourself, my lady. Trust your heart. Your will. Your spirit. You are strong enough to face your own powers and remain yourself."

Adora sipped her water. She knew better than to chug it - water discipline was one the first things she mastered. She was always thirsty. Always.

"What if I don't want to be who having magic might make me?"

Duncan's face was calm and his eyes were steady as his locked with hers.

"There are many things in life we have no control over. Who we are is one we always get to choose."

Chapter Text

Catra's Office

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Three Months after Catra's abduction

Catra hissed as someone else knocked at the door to her office. Why did she have an office, anyway? She didn't need an office. And so help her, if this was one more person coming to talk to her about her Coronation, she was going to start another fight. She was better at fighting than event planning.

Especially if they wanted to ask her about what she was wearing. Or suggest something she shouldn't wear. Almost everyone who'd come by while she worked on the lists of things Cloudfoot left for her to choose had wanted to talk to her about her 'outfits' for her Coronation.

(Outfits? Really? Like she was going to wear multiple things?)

She may as well answer the door. It was better than choosing the tablecloth color for her reception. (What was the point of a tablecloth, anyway? Why did Halfmoon make everything so complicated?)

Melog rolled their glowing eyes at her and laid their head on their paws where they were stretched out on her couch. The spirit-cat had resized themselves to fit perfectly and was quite comfortable. She could feel their smug contentment in the back of her head, and her companion's deep relaxation was the only reason she wasn't barring the door, hiding under the stupidly large desk, and pretending not to be there.

Whose idea was the office again?

Oh yeah. Now she remembered. Minister Cloudfoot. He had been Catra's favorite royal adviser, until she realized he expected her to use the office. By being in it. Where people could find her and talk to her about event planning.

Colors. Decorations. Music. Seating arrangements. Outfits. Menus. And that was just the reception after her Coronation!

She knew the truth now. It wasn't the RuneStones or magic that had driven the Princesses mad. It was Royal Events. Planning Royal Events, in particular.

Maybe she wouldn't answer the door. Whoever it was could probably wait. Forever.

The door creaked open, and Akrash sauntered in. He kicked the door closed behind him, his soft lavender robes flowing around him, washing out his already stark white fur. He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed.

He somehow managed to always look like he was too skinny, too tall, and on the edge of bolting from any room he was in. Catra could hardly blame him. She had spent the last several days hiding, dodging people, and finding excuses not to be places where people could find her ask her about more plans for events.

Or worse, ask her opinions on Minister Imoh's desire to marry her off to a complete stranger for the explicit purpose of having kids. (She hadn't clawed anyone yet, but a few of the older nobles obviously thought it was a good idea and wanted to talk her around. It had been a near thing a couple of times.)

Of course, he had good reasons. His parents had tried to sell his entire people to the Horde for the bargain price of faux power and empty authority over the shell of their conquered nation. He was having a much harder time settling into Halfmoon than she was.

Even with all he'd already done, suspicion followed him like a cloud.

"So. I figured we should talk about that night. Seems about time." He looked tired and resigned, and Catra did not blame him one bit. She took one look at the expression on his face and the stiffness in his pose and realized what he meant. She was sure her expression showed just as much distaste.

I'd wondered when this was going to happen.

She couldn't say she wanted to talk about it. She had her mother had talked about it. She and Cloudfoot had talked about it. She and Askar had talked about it. She and Percival had talked about it.

She had avoided talking about it with Akrash.

She groaned and hopped up on her desk, sitting cross-legged. Thankfully, it was empty of anything other than Cloudfoot's most incomplete list and a brand new jacket, and she didn't mind sitting on that. Percival wouldn't be happy about it, but Catra was less worried about the state of her wardrobe than the Seneschal was.

"Do we have to? We've put it off so far, right? We're good. Right?"

"We've avoided this really well, yeah." Akrash sank to the floor, most of his insouciant nonchalance turning into petulant reluctance before his haunches hit the carpet. "I'm good. You're good. In theory, we can avoid talking."

"It's a really good theory. I'm on board with it." Catra sighed, her ears going back. "This so is not your idea."

Akrash rested his chin on his knees. "So not my idea. I was very happy with avoidance. Easier that way. Right?"

"Simplest solution." Catra shrugged. "Sure. I've got questions about that night. About why. Answers won't change anything. I'm still here. I still have my mother. I still have magic. I still have to avoid kicking the next idiot who tells me I need to wear a gown. Or tells me who to get married to. I spent a long time knowing a lot less and answers wouldn't have changed anything then, either."

Akrash huffed out a laugh. "Like you'd believe me, anyway. I lied my way into the Fright Zone. I lied my way out with you. I lied my way into the Castle. I lied my way all the way to the Queen herself."

Melog looked up, their eyes narrowing at Akrash and flashing red.

"Why should I be worried about you being a liar? I already knew lying was your hobby."

Catra flopped back on her desk, her feet dangling off the end. She knew he'd lied a lot to get her out of the Fright Zone and get back into Halfmoon, but she wasn't sure she'd heard him tell a lie since. She also wouldn't know if he had. "I have a spirit guardian cat. For all you know, they can tell when you lie."

"To myself or to you?" Akrash leaned his head back, thudding it against her door frame. "If that's true, you scare me a lot more than I scare you. And if you tell anyone I said that, I'll turn you into a fish and throw you in the lake."

Catra smirked. "As it should be. Because you also don't know if I just lied to you. So you can gamble on me being a lying liar who lies and lie through your teeth, or you can tell me the truth. You won't know until you try."

Akrash huffed. "You're good. You're almost as good with words as you are your staff. You're not subtle with, though. Blunt force trauma is not the only tactic that exists. It's okay to explore others, you know."

"Blunt force trauma's more fun." Catra crossed her ankles. She wasn't sure Akrash thinking she was good at bandying words was a good thing or not. She was withholding judgment. "For me."

They sat there in silence for a long few minutes and Catra realized she was almost ready to doze off. Having Melog with her had given her a lot more security and part of her trusted Akrash. He had fought to save Lyra.

That was worth a lot to her, apparently. More than her residual anger over her unceremonious abduction. Besides, if he'd wanted her dead, he would have killed her already. He was a liar. Not stupid.

"You never asked whose idea it was for us to talk."

"Does it matter?" Catra shrugged. "It was either someone trying to help one or both of us or it was a busybody. The kind that tells a girl to wear frilly lace instead of armor to her own Coronation, I'd bet."

She knew she was well past being petulant and downright insolent about the Coronation. She couldn't help it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She was willing to make a lot of adjustments to be a princess. She'd accepted the office!

Just - not about what she wore. She'd already fought that battle once.

He laughed softly. "Minister Cloudfoot feels that, before the Coronation, you should be able to answer questions about your own rescue and return to Halfmoon. In case someone asks. Which, you can't really do yet, can you?"

"No. I guess not." Catra stared up at the ceiling, admiring the blue-black marble ceiling and wondering how they managed to get the marble to fit up there without it falling down. There were seams, and that seemed like a way things would fall down, eventually. "Maybe I can distract them by not wearing a gown. Then they can ask me about what I'm wearing instead of how I got home."

She could get Kesi to get her a cave-girl outfit. Appearing half-naked for her Coronation would distract from the story of being abducted from the Horde and taken from Adora. Or show off the navel piercing she'd talked Kesi into doing after the Council meeting.

"You could think of the gowns as your Princess uniform?" Akrash sounded half-serious.

Magic. The ceiling had to be magic. Everything came back to magic. The same stupid magic that made her think of Halfmoon as 'home' already.

The 'magic of responsibility' or something, maybe. Magic made her feel responsible for the magicats of Halfmoon, which is why she had an office. Magic made the marble feel responsible for being a roof, so it stayed up there.

"I'm enlisted. Not an officer." Catra waved him off. "No one should expect me to wear a gown right, anyway. I barely manage regular Princess clothes."

She was not feeling responsible or beholden enough to wear a dress. Or a gown. Or whatever the frilly monstrosity her mother's advisers had tried to get her to try on. At least her mother hadn't asked her to wear a dress. She wasn't sure, but it might be the first time she would say 'no' to Lyra and actually mean it. Assuming Lyra asked her to. So far, Lyra seemed more than willing - happy even! - to let Catra be herself.

"What do you want to wear to the most important event of your life, then?" Akrash seemed willing to change the subject, even if it meant talking more. Catra had noticed he was a man of as few words as he could get away with. She liked that about him. She really did.

"My armor. My weapons. I'm a Princess, sure. But I'm a fighter. I'm going to fight the Horde and anyone else who comes here to start something. I'll stand for the people. And I'll stand between the people and the things that want to hurt them. None of that involves wearing a dress. Gown. Whatever. You can't fight it in, anyway."

Akrash stretched out his legs. "You should say that part - the part about standing for them and all that - at your Coronation. Good speech material, that."

"Maybe."

More silence, this time, not quite as long. Catra caved first. She wasn't sure why she prodded him. She didn't want to know. Not really. But maybe she had to?

"It's not, you know."

"What's not what?" Akrash sounded almost as confused as Catra felt.

"The Coronation. It's not the most important day of my life. The day I got here was. The day I left there was. Those matter a lot more than having someone put a crown - sorry, diadem - on my head and telling me I'm a pretty, pretty princess."

Akrash groaned softly. "I really should tell you, shouldn't I?"

"Up to you." Catra's eyes were half closed. "I might nap while you sit there and dither about it. As long as you're here, people aren't likely going to ask me about the color of the tablecloths."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Comforting. How about this? I let you sit there and not tell me about it, and you chase off anyone coming to ask me about place settings? I'll figure out how to tell Cloudfoot we don't need tablecloths."

"Sure. Good deal. I like it."

The silence was heavy, and almost overwhelming, and Catra couldn't doze this time, but Melog was getting a short nap in. They figured they had time. This was the longest silence, but finally Akrash broke.

"I hate them, you know. My parents. They ruined me. Ruined my life. For stupid reasons."

Catra wanted to stare at the glow panels cleverly hidden in her ceiling. Maybe even climb a wall and take one down. They were so much nicer than the flickering, half-functional ones the Horde had used. They smelled better, too. Less like burnt plastic and more like petrichor.

Somehow.

"I kinda figured. I don't know how bad they screwed you, but my mother told me a little." Catra could empathize. She hated Shadow Weaver and Hordak. They'd ruined her life for a long time, and even made sure she lost something precious and irreplaceable when she was sent away. When they discarded her.

"I hate you too. Only a little. I owe you, because you were my ticket back in, and you supported me when your mother named me Royal Sorcerer - but you got your mother back. Your mother is actually a good person who loves you and wants you back, no matter what. My parents - they're still alive, by the by - would probably kill me or sell me off."

Catra laughed softly. "Of course they would. It's okay, you know? Hating me. I'd hate me a little, too. Besides, as much as I owe you, I hate you too. You took me away from - something important. Something maybe lost forever now. Something I can never have back, no matter what I do. It's lost in the Fright Zone, and by the time I could get there, get to her …it'd be too late. Shadow Weaver will see to that."

"Her?" Akrash's voice was soft. Empathetic. Even concerned, the wily bastard. That wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to be using her to get back to his people. To build a home for himself. A new life.

Catra turned her head just enough to give him a sharp look. "You don't get to know that. No one gets to know that. It's mine."

None of them got to know about Adora. They'd all want to talk about her. They'd want to either use her connection to Adora against the Horde, or they'd want her to let Adora go and tell her it was hopeless. She knew it was hopeless, but as long as she never was forced to really admit what that meant, she could pretend. Most of the time.

Wait for her single chance. Daydream and wish. She wasn't going to let anyone take that away.

He held up his hands in surrender. "Understood. After their coup failed, they left me. They ran us through the tunnels for days, then they left me. Standing on the side of a mountain, in the cold, with nothing but empty promises that they - and I - were meant to rule. Castaspella of Mystacor found me when I got mad so at everything I threw lightning into a snowbank and sent an avalanche down a ravine she was fond of. For whatever reason. Who has a favorite ravine?"

Catra was peripherally aware who the leader of Mystacor was, but didn't know where it was. What it was like. Only that it was important to the Princesses and where most of their sorcerers lived, making it one of the more terrifying places on Etheria.

"She take you in?"

"Yeah." His voice got raspy. He pulled out a flask and took a swallow, and Catra could smell water with herbs. Tisane. "Right away. Just scooped me up out of the snow and ice - took me to Mystacor. Got me a room. Clothes. Food. A sweater. Put me to bed, and the next day started treating me like her s - student."

Like her son. Catra heard the unspoken word. Catra knew the word that should have been there. She knew why he didn't feel comfortable calling Castaspella his mother, but Catra knew it was how he thought of her.

"Her other student, Ariel. Redhead from Bright Moon. She and Casta - they challenged me. Taught me. Asked me stupid questions. Got stupid answers. Why did my parents get to rule? Why did we get to depose the Queen? What would selling out to the Horde get us? They showed me villages the Horde destroyed. Showed me orphanages full of war orphans."

Another sip of his tisane. It didn't smell too bad, but Catra still didn't want to drink it. Her fruit juice was better. Maybe she could get someone to install a cooler in her desk so she could keep some in her office. She was apparently supposed to be in it a lot. Deciding stupid things.

Also, knowing the Princesses had a place for orphans. Unexpected, but good. She wondered what their training was like? How hard it was to wait until they were the magic age to serve?

He shrugged. "We didn't go out into the world much. Sorcerers are targets for the Horde."

Catra snorted. "Nice way of saying they hunt you."

Us. A traitorous voice whispered in her head. They hunt us. She was technically a sorceress now. She didn't have a clue what she was doing, but she had magic. She hated it. She was scared of it. But she couldn't get rid of it.

He wasn't wrong. Neither was she. The Horde hunted down and killed every Princess-aligned sorcerer they could. They trained even the lowliest soldiers how to combat magic. How to fight magicians. They were good at it. Vicious. Brutal. Vindictive.

She knew. She'd been trained.

"Yeah. But we had to go out, sometimes. Local village. Nice place. Took good care of us, we protected them. They sent for Casta a few months ago, because two magicats showed up. She brought me. My parents had come back. They tried to talk me into joining them. Joining the Horde. They told me how we'd leverage me going back to Haflmoon. Use what they knew about a magicat in the Horde to get me into Halfmoon. Pass her off as the Princess and get myself in the Queen's good graces, then poison the RuneStone and open the wards. I declined. I was done with them. My father tried to smite me right then and there."

He dug around in his robes, pulled out a second flask. This time, Catra made a face at the bitter, sharp smell. It was the purple liquor magicats distilled from mushrooms and some kind of root. She let him get away with it.

"Castaspella of Mystacor is one of the most powerful sorceresses in the world. While I was frozen in shock, she sent my parents running for the hills. But they planted the seed. The seed of going home. Casta and Ariel outfitted me, we had a good-bye dinner, and then I came back here. Took me some cunning and some magic, but I did. The Queen let me back in, and then they asked me to fight the Horde. A sorceress - Mortella - was doing a lot of damage, and she was more than the few sorcerers on the front lines could handle. Most magicat magicians, they stay home. Keep the city alive. I went to fight."

He didn't say it, but she knew. It's what he had been trained to do. And maybe it had offered a path to redemption.

Catra shivered. Mortella. Shadow Weaver's first and most powerful apprentice. A dark witch who was very nearly mad with the power she'd managed to amass. She stole magic from everything she could - artifacts, people, places. She was an insane sadist and was often so dangerous Hordak preferred to have her away from the Fright Zone, because he might have to kill her otherwise.

(Catra was pretending not to know the rumors Mortella wanted to be Hordak's consort. She really didn't want to think about that.)

He took another drink of the purple booze. He coughed. "Oh, that is not smooth. Give me plum liqueur from Plumeria every time. Or watermelon wine from Bright Moon. Blech. Does the job, though. Right before I went up to duel her, I remembered the magicat in the Horde. How much would it piss my parents off if I got her out and they couldn't use her anymore? To steal their potential leverage, get someone else home, and ruin their plans? So I surrendered."

Catra blinked. She had never heard of that used as a tactic before.

He waved his flask at her, and the fumes wafted in her direction. Melog sneezed from the couch, looking insulted.

"I know! I know! It worked, okay? I lied to Mortella and Shadow Weaver until they agreed to let me have you in exchange for doing something to the RuneStone. I lied about knowing where it was. I knew just enough from my parents to sell it. It was easy enough."

Catra heard him shrug and felt the room spin a little as a small burst of adrenaline exploded in her chest. Easy enough to lie to Shadow Weaver?

"How?" Her voice was raspy. "How did you lie to her?"

Akrash laughed again. "She recognized me. I made sure she recognized me."

Catra flicked her ears. Shadow Weaver had what? "She recognized you?"

"When I was a kid, I was more gray than white. I had a lot of white striping. Living in Mystacor - the magic does odd things? Or late puberty decided for me. The gray vanished and now my coat shows any dirt I get close to. I used a bit of transmutation to make sure I looked like she would expect me to."

Catra let out a slow breath as Akrash dodged the actual question. She felt Melog staring at him - he wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling her everything. He had definitely glossed over why he was stark white.

"Why would Shadow Weaver be able to recognize you?"

"Yeah. About that. My childhood sucked? My parents are heartless traitors who want to rule through fear. They got along real well with Shadow Weaver. My parents took me to meet her as a kid. She'd terrified me as a kid. She terrified me as an adult. But she knew who I am. Who I was. I told her what my parents told me. Told her their plan. Told her they'd asked me to contact her. It was all true - from a certain point of view."

Catra shivered a little and pulled on the jacket. She wanted to turn and stare at him, but she didn't. He had done what she did. Lied without lying. Deceived with the truth.

Akrash had beaten Shadow Weaver at her own game.

But Shadow Weaver had met Akrash. Met Kellam and Varlaine. Shadow Weaver had always known what she was. Maybe not who. But what. Shadow Weaver had never told the Horde she was a magicat. Or maybe she had and the Horde didn't care?

She shivered again and pulled the jacket tighter around herself. Kesi had chosen a good jacket. Not too heavy. Not too light. Soft. Usually, when she wore a coat or a jacket, she had stolen Adora's. This one didn't smell right. It didn't smell like her.

"You knew her. Them. The Horde." Yet more things she hadn't thought about.

"Yeah." He sounded bitter. Angry. He took two more swallows of the liquor. "I knew them. We visited the Fright Zone a few times. Grizzlor - that asshole - taught me to fight by beating on me. Shadow Weaver gave me books on magic. Taught me a couple of spells. Gave me tips - good tips - on improving my technique. She was - for her - gentle and kind with me. I knew she was evil, even then. My parents did, too. I cared. They didn't. She told my parents she might apprentice me in her Dark Temple after they won. "

Catra resisted the urge to curl up on the desk. She wasn't going to show him how much those words affected her. How much fear that place held for her. She'd never been inside - only seen it from afar. But it was where Shadow Weaver had wanted to take Adora, more than once.

Melog shrank down. Jumped from the couch to her chest and nuzzled his chin under hers with a spectral, echoing purrs.

"You got lucky." Catra tried to make herself sound flippant. She knew she failed. "She would have destroyed you. Remade you."

"I figured. They would have liked that. I was always too soft for them. They made sure I knew I was weak." Akrash took another swig. "Ugh, this crap really is awful. I wanted to be Lenio's apprentice. Grumpy old man, then and always. He's forgotten more about magic than most people ever learn. I thought about being a healer. A sorcerer and a doctor. I'm good at potions. Really good at potions. My favorite kind of magic, actually. Lenio is a genius at them. Even better than Mom - Castaspella."

Catra waved her hand. "Call her Mom or whatever. I know the difference. I'm not going to give you shit for getting adopted."

He might have smiled. He might not have. She heard his tail move. She clutched Melog to her, trying to sink into the warmth he whispered into her thoughts.

"After, they sent me to the surface, to some dark, damp, gloomy little town full of nasty characters where I waited until someone brought me a small crystal. I was supposed to hide it under the RuneStone. They would 'know' when it was activated. After I did that, I was to go to the Fright Zone and use a special scroll to send a message to Shadow Weaver. Instead, I used every magic I had, hid my path, went to Mystacor and gave the crystal to Mom. She did something to it. I don't know what. But she told me Shadow Weaver would think I had done what I was supposed to have. She talked to me about Shadow Weaver, told me how to lie to her again, and off I went. The rest you pretty much know."

(Catra had questions about how Castaspella of Mystacor would know how to lie to Shadow Weaver, but she woman was the most powerful sorceress in the world. Who knew what she knew?)

Catra nodded, a low growl in the back of her throat. "Then I got abducted, tortured again, knocked out for a few days, and you drug me back here. Turns out, I actually am the Princess, and you may or may not have known that."

If he hadn't wanted to get revenge. If he hadn't wanted to prove himself. She would still have Adora.

But she wouldn't have Lyra.

She hated that it was a trade. She wanted both her Adora and her mother. Every time she thought about Adora, her chest ached like a bruise, and her head swam with emotions, but - she really would have to start finding a way to let her go. At least a little. Enough to move on and survive and thrive in Halfmoon. She was a Princess, and she needed to be a princess.

Wouldn't that piss Shadow Weaver off? Catra was the very thing she'd raised Catra to hate and kill.

She wouldn't ever completely let Adora go. She knew that. No matter how 'good' an idea it probably was.

Akrash sighed and saw Melog was looking at him with glowing blue eyes. Unblinking eyes. He shook his head. "Yeah. No. I'm not that good. I can lie. I can deceive. I'm a better than average sorcerer. Not in Ariel or Casta's league, but good."

Given what she knew of Akrash's powers and skills, Catra had to wonder at the kind of power Castaspella or Ariel had. And why they weren't fighting for the Princesses.

"I was thirteen when we ran." Akrash's voice was so quiet Catra had to strain to hear it. "You were - three? When they tried to take over. I'd never met you, but I'd seen you around the castle. With your parents. I knew about your eyes. I'd seen your stripes. I saw you lying there on the ground, and I thought - maybe? I checked your eyes - and laughed. I suspected Shadow Weaver had done things to you to make you look like the Princess, sure. But I honestly thought the Princess was dead and there was no way Shadow Weaver would turn you over to me if you were. Maybe she didn't know?"

Catra's fur stood on end. He'd been almost as old as she was now when his parents had tried to conquer Halfmoon. Had abandoned him on a frozen mountain. He'd had an entire life. Friends. Family. Hopes. She'd never even considered he had seen her as a child - but he had.

She swallowed. And told the truth. "Shadow Weaver would sacrifice a Princess to conquer a kingdom. Especially if that princess was me."

Shadow Weaver probably would have traded her for much less than a chance at conquering Halfmoon. Catra hadn't been worth much to her, beyond leverage on Adora.

"No wonder my folks liked her so much. So, I lied my way back into Halfmoon, lied my way into another audience with your mother, and then I dropped my disguise, broke down like a kitten, and told her everything."

She could almost feel the resigned shame in him as Melog showed her what he felt. As Melog reassured her he wasn't lying. Hadn't lied. Didn't even want to lie - though he wasn't telling her everything.

She could hardly blame him. She knew she didn't want to know everything. What he was telling her was already too much.

"Of course, you woke up and tried to kill - everyone."

Catra groaned. She hated talking about that. What else was she supposed to have done? She'd thought she was in an enemy stronghold, a prisoner on the run, and killing the Queen would be her last act before Halfmoon's guards killed her.

She thought she had been doing the one thing she could to protect Adora!

Except, her mother had stopped the fight. Stopped her own people. Offered Catra the chance to kill her. Maybe Shadow Weaver had known? Or at least suspected? Shadow Weaver was subtle. She was plans within plans. Contingencies for contingencies.

Shadow Weaver wouldn't be above using the daughter to kill the mother if it would make the mother hesitate. If Lyra had hesitated. Been less sure. Less confident. Less willing to die for her child.

Catra would have killed her own mother. Catra would have died before knowing what she had done.

She wanted to wail. To scream. To cry at what she had almost done for Shadow Weaver - out of ignorance. Fear.

"Shadow Weaver knew." Catra's voice was a whisper. "She had to have known, given everything I know now. How I came to Halfmoon, especially. She - well, I hope she comes to try to take Halfmoon one day. After we end Mortella. Then I can end her, and Etheria will that much better off."

"Dark. Broody. Vengeful. That's my role, Princess. You're supposed to be sarcastic, violent, and unpredictable. Come on! Let me have the dark, broody thing."

Catra rolled her eyes. Banter. She could do banter. It was so much better than confessions.

"You're wearing lavender robes, magic boy. You are not dark or broody. Moody, maybe. Pouty, for sure. But if it makes you feel better, I'll stick with sarcastic, violent, and unpredictable and let you play make believe."

He took another swig of his tisane flask before putting both away. "Keep telling yourself that. Just wait. I'll find a way to be the darkest, broodiest one at your Coronation."

"Hah." Catra flicked her ear at him. "I get to choose the colors. You're gonna be in sparkly pink. Maybe glittery salmon. Anyway, thanks for telling me. All makes sense now. I still hate you a little bit, but only a little bit."

Akrash stood and dusted himself off. "You only get to choose the colors if you plan your own party. But if you manage to pull it off, I will make sparkly pink look good. Yeah. Glad you know. I still hate you a little bit, too. It's gonna be a thing. Just so you know. I'm supposed to tell you. The Queen is going to start teaching you magic after. Or, you know, I could. So that's not between you and your Mom."

A chance to fail at magic with him and not with her mother. A way for avoid her mother's inevitable disappointment in her daughter.

Catra sat up, sitting cross-legged on her desk. Melog slid into her lap, curling up on her legs. "Can you?"

Akrash shrugged. "Sure. I've already taught a couple of people. Not all the way through the tests of sorcery, but yeah. I can."

Catra clenched her jaw. He wasn't that bad, as smug, petulant, liars went. And she was terrified if her mother taught her, she would fail. Terrified of magic. Terrified of disappointing her mother.

She wasn't terrified of him. She barely cared about his opinion. And she had no intention of taking the 'tests of sorcery,' whatever they were. She only needed to make sure she could control her magic instead of it doing what it wanted.

"Fine. When?"

His smirk made her roll her eyes again. "After your Coronation. You'll be a real Princess! I'll ask your staff."

"Staff?" Catra glanced over at her magic staff, propped up next to an empty bookcase.

"Staff. You know. Advisers. Secretary. Scheduler. All of that. Princesses get their own staff. Man, you might be good at beating people up, but you've got a lot to learn about being rich and entitled."

Catra, moderately horrified at the idea of having staff, glared at him. "Offering lessons on that, too?"

She had almost forgotten she would have her own staff. Have to build her own Advisory Council. Some slots were easily filled; others were not. Kesi - Percival's apprentice - would almost certainly be stepping in as her Steward, and Catra could live with that.

She hadn't decided on that yet. She probably wouldn't. Just like she wouldn't actually decide what color the tablecloths were. She had to decide more important things about her Coronation. Colors and who worked for her weren't nearly as important as the rest of it.

She had to do things the right way. For her. For Halfmoon. Not for tradition. Not for the Council. Not for the nobles.

"Nope. Minister of State Cloudfoot and his husband get to teach you to be a rich snob. Have fun with that, your highness. Anyway, we've talked. Now, I have another meeting with Kittrina to plan Imoh's fall from grace and Haverisk's humiliation."

Catra huffed. "Again? What is this, six or seven meetings since I yelled at the Council?"

Akrash shrugged. Grinned. "Something like that? She's got a good mind for politics. I like watching her plot. She gets gleeful and happy when she's about to make other people suffer. She took the arranged marriage thing for her daughter seriously. She's basically taken over our plot to ruin their plot, and keeps sending me out for information and recon. Then ordering me to come back and tell her what I found."

"Ordering you?" Catra rolled over, skeptical. She didn't let on what Akrash revealed. She hadn't known the sex of Kittrina's baby. Neither had Lyra or Cloudfoot. Yet, Kittrina had told Akrash?

She wanted to smirk. Was it possible the taciturn and manipulative Royal Sorcerer was accidentally making a friend?

He grinned. "Ordering me. I quite purposefully don't go back to her until she tells me to, using her 'princess' voice. Drives her nuts. Can't make it too easy on her. She'd get bored and your mother wants her on our side. I can play her games and make it fun for her until she's actually on our side and then be less adversarial."

Catra groaned. "Please don't make the other Princess mad before we win? My mother would be upset if I have to kill Imoh or any of his supporters."

She wouldn't mind nearly as much as her mother would. But her mother probably knew better. At least, about what kind of fallout it would cause.

Akrash looked entirely too smug. "Kittrina wouldn't. Her first solution was the same as yours. Hit them until they stopped talking. Or thinking." He shuddered theatrically. "Never piss off a pregnant woman. They get creative with the revenge fantasies. Anyway, can't be too late to the meeting. I'm supposed to run by one of the kitchens and find her some specific fish paste and a specific kind of bread. She has a 'craving' and Aster is on Eternia being diplomatic and can't be her errand boy."

Catra was pleased to note Akrash usually said Aster's name like he would describing something unpleasant he had accidentally stepped in. Catra had a suspicion as to why - Akrash had hinted at being ambitious, and there was no rule against the Royal Sorcerer and Chair of Sorcery being the same person.

In fact, Cloudfoot had told her all three magical positions could be - and often had been - held by the same person.

"He spends more time on Eternia than here." Catra knew she was poking Akrash. She wanted to know if he was already angling for Aster's job. Having leverage was nice. Giving her mother leverage was nicer.

Getting Aster's smug, arrogant tail out of government and into being a full-time royal husband would also be extremely satisfying.

The Royal Sorcerer made a face. "He's leaving a lot of work undone here, and a lot of it has ended up in my lap. He's good to his wife, he's a skilled sorcerer, but I hate having to do his damn job when he's off playing ambassador."

That made sense. Akrash wasn't angling for Aster's job; he was mad at having to do Aster's job. It wasn't leverage, but it was information she could pass on.

She waved him off. "Have fun annoying my rival."

He bowed his way out the door, closing it behind him. Catra sighed. She needed to get things for her desk, if only to throw at annoying people. The desk might as well be good for something, right?

She peeled off the new jacket. It didn't feel right and she wasn't shivering anymore. Jackets were supposed to smell like Adora.

She probably could ask Kesi about scandalous outfits for her Coronation. Or about new piercings. Or about things she could put on her desk that would be good for throwing at people.

Melog gave her a disappointed look and yawned slowly and deliberately, letting her know she had spent too much time thinking about things she didn't care about.

She really should talk to Kesi. Figure out the whole Seneschal/steward thing. Find out what Kesi needed from her. That was productive. Important. Not tablecloths. Could Kesi decide on the tablecloths?

Delegating that seemed smart.

Melog nosed her cheek.

Right. She could delegate later. After a nap. Under her bed. Where people couldn't find her to ask her about event planning. (Or if they did, she could bite their ankles.)

The Queen's Conference Room

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Three months after Catra's abduction

"You will hold vigil before the Spirit Ember from dawn to dawn. As the dawn breaks, the Royal Court will assemble and the Queen will place the diadem upon your head. You will give your oath to the crown, and…"

Catra's eyes - one blue and one gold - watched as Cloudfoot, Minister of State for her mother and her grandparents, paced back and forth, up and down the conference room, his staff of office tapping the floor with every other step.

It was a very fancy stick. Made of copper-wrapped purple wood, topped with the flames and crescent moon, all with a very pretty red crystal that still faintly glowed in the right light. Lyra had told her it was a Tear of Fire - a stone shed by the RuneStone once every decade or so, but that one was almost a thousand years old.

Cloudfoot knew the story of what it had used to be, but he might the only one.

Catra let him get deep into his explanation. She didn't ask him if the whole Royal Court was going to be escorted down the Spirit Ember. That sounded chaotic. Or ritualistic. But it would probably break the whole 'secret location' thing. Unless Lyra was going to guide Catra down, then go back and guide everyone else down. Or someone else knew the path.

(Catra had been annoyed to realize since her visit to the Spirit Ember, she would easily be able to find her way back to it.)

"…from there, the procession will move into the grand hall for a reception, which you - I swear upon my mothers - will be properly attired for…"

She would be properly attired. Whether or not Cloudfoot approved was going to be a 'him' problem. He would try to make it her problem, but that wasn't going to work as well as he wanted it to.

Catra tapped her claw against the wood of the table, wondering how they got wood furniture underground, in a cave? Did they have trading partners, somehow, despite being a lost, hidden kingdom? She didn't really see them taking a bunch of heavy wood furniture with them during an evacuation.

There was so much she didn't know. So much she needed to know. She hadn't been in Halfmoon very long at all, and she knew her mother had pushed to have her crowned quickly. If, for no other reason than to make things harder for the Royal Council.

It would make it harder for them to push for Kittrina being a 'better fit' as heir. A Crown Princess was apparently a rank above a regular Princess. Which no one had told her, despite her asking.

So much she didn't know yet.

Being Crowned (or Coronated?) didn't ease Catra's worries. She knew she wasn't fit to be a Princess, much less a Queen, and the people probably knew that. They knew where she came from. They knew she hadn't been raised in Halfmoon. Educated in Halfmoon. All the things a Princess should know - about ranks, about where wood furniture came from - were things she was learning on the fly as she tried very hard to be Princess.

It wasn't like she wasn't trying. She was trying to learn everything she could as fast as she could.

Catra had spent most of her time (when she wasn't with her mother) being trained by or taught by Askar, Cloudfoot, Percival, and Akrash. Though, time spent with the last of those was almost none. After she was crowned, he was going to teach her magic, but she didn't think either of them was really looking forward to it as much as they were acknowledging it was a necessity.

They'd cleared the air and could sass each other all day long, but she wasn't sure what they would be like in close proximity for hours at a time. Without a referee, anyway.

Maybe that's what she should get Kesi to do. Be a buffer between her and Akrash. She knew her mother wanted the girl as her Steward, but Catra wasn't sure she needed a Steward. Of course, Catra only had the vaguest idea what a Steward did.

"…the receiving line will be you, your mother, Aster, and Princess Kittrina and…"

Until then, she and Akrash were trying to find a way to work together. They met up in her office occasionally to snark at each other and pretend they were discussing something important. Mostly, so they could both have a few minutes to breathe. Aster had extended his trip to Eternia three times now, and though it made Lyra scowl, he had managed to soothe hurt feelings about the Old Clans not being involved in Catra's training, her Coronation, or in any other decisions about her. That, and a new trade agreement everyone agreed was good. Which meant Akrash was doing almost all the duties of the Chair of Sorcery, his own workload, helping with her Coronation, plotting politics with Cloudfoot and Kittrina, and doing his best to help Percival with information about Etheria.

According to her mother, Aster was just as unhappy with the situation as Akrash was. He was apparently very tired of Eternian food.

Maybe Eternia was where the wood came from? Either way, Catra wasn't keen on the Eternian magicats (Qadians! She had to remember that) making decisions about her. Or approving her. They were from an entirely different planet. A concept Catra was still wrapping her head around.

(At least, they hadn't suggested marriage prospects for her. Aster had quashed that, and quashed it hard. Catra was very grateful.)

"…your mother will introduce your staff and advisors to the court - a list of which, by the by, you need to finish soon, so they have a chance to sit with young Kesi for appropriate outfits…"

Cloudfoot was her primary tutor (other than her mother), and he talked to her about history - but more importantly, about culture. He was the one she was going to ask about trading partners and furniture. He was a damn good teacher and - unless he was talking about event planning, Catra could listen to him ramble about Halfmoon and magicats for hours.

She'd learned a lot. Enough to know she wouldn't be a quiet, idle princess.

She had ideas about Halfmoon's place in the world. Notions, she thought the Minister would call them. Being Princess would be important, because her 'notions' were going to be a pain in his tail. Catra was okay with that, even though she knew Cloudfoot wouldn't be. A lot of people probably wouldn't be, but Akrash agreed with her.

And the two of them knew a lot better than most of Halfmoon about some things.

"…each Council member will have a chance to spend a few minutes with you and the royal family, and will offer you their take on the most pressing issue you, as a Princess, should address. Imoh, of course, will be excluded from this unless he can convince your mother he will behave himself…."

Askar was teaching her about Halfmoon's warrior tradition. They drilled and trained, and he'd taught her a thousand new tricks. He wasn't trying to change and redefine how she fought. He was trying to perfect her skills and make her the absolute best warrior she could be. He pushed her hard and he drove her to fits of apoplectic rage with his unnerving calm and complete inability to lose to her. But she also wouldn't trade his training for much. Between him and her mother, she had heard a lifetime of stories about her father.

Some of them several times. Not that she ever tired of hearing them - she wanted to know Cyrus so badly it hurt. Lyra kept telling her how much like him she was. How much he would love who she had become. Fierce. Independent. Strong. Skilled. Defiant.

It was that last trait that was going to get her in trouble, she knew. Not in the far future. In about thirty seconds. Which is how long she reckoned she had before Cloudfoot could process what Catra was about to say.

Her claw tapped on the table again. Lyra, sitting at the head of the table, smiled and shook her head.

At least she hadn't sighed?

Catra had told her she was going to let Cloudfoot tell her what was expected, and then she would argue her case.

But Cloudfoot had been talking for almost two hours without a pause. It had been a veritable deluge of step-by-step instructions, commentary, and opinions on her Coronation that showed no signs of slowing or stopping.

And Catra really had been patient with everyone. Telling her what to wear. What to say. What to think. Or feel. She hadn't called anyone names to their face, clawed anyone, or followed through on any of her (numerous) subtle (for her) threats of violence.

If she was going to be a good princess - if she was going to do the job right - she had to start out right.

She reached up and fiddled with one of her piercings. She would have to get with Kesi before her Coronation. Do some of the others. She needed to present herself as herself, and that meant finishing what she'd started in Percival's office not too long ago.

"Yeah, no. Not doing any of it that way." Catra waved her hand and flicked her ears. She was learning her people's body language, but she still wasn't as good at as she needed to be. Another thing for her ever growing list of shit she needed to know. Before long, she would start acting like Adora and writing actual lists! With pen and paper! She might even go so far as to check things off.

Adora.

Oh. Those thoughts still hurt. Adora, with her uncanny ability to charm anyone, pout her way out of (and into) trouble. Adora, with her cheer and her smiles and her golden hair, would have known how to do this without a fight. (Adora, as loyal and steadfast as anyone could be, would have scoffed at and defied the very idea Catra would sit any kind of vigil alone.)

Cloudfoot started spluttering, both at the very idea Catra had interrupted him and at her casual dismissal of his entire plan, but Catra was a solid tactician. You never let the other guy get his wind back before you followed through.

"If you start spouting off about 'tradition,' I'm going to steal your pretty stick and make you chase me across the castle. Look. I respect magicat tradition. But I don't have a lot invested in it. What I am invested in is my role as Princess. I'm going to help lead, help rule these people - these people who didn't, don't get a say in having a former Hordie stepping up next to their beloved Queen and suddenly having authority over them. I haven't earned my place. I haven't done anything to be Princess - and fighting a bunch of traitors who wanted me and my mother dead doesn't count, because that was self-defense."

Cloudfoot opened his mouth, but Lyra held up her hand, her eyes alight with both mischief and determination. "Hear her out. Catra isn't yet knowledgeable about her people, but my daughter is also smart. We will let her explain and we will not force traditions on her that mean nothing to her without very good reasons. Just because it's been done that way before doesn't mean it has to be done that way now."

And oh did it feel good to hear her mother say that about her. She couldn't help the way her tail curled or how she smiled. Every time her mother said something like that to someone else was - she didn't know, but she needed it like she needed air.

"Tradition that feels like peer pressure from dead people isn't good tradition." Catra jumped out of her chair and onto the conference room table. Her people were feline! What was the obsession with chairs? She sat cross legged on the table and settled herself for a long argument. Cloudfoot loved to make her debate and discuss everything she said that wasn't in complete agreement with him until she wanted to punch him in his dumb face.

Of course, Catra also loved listening to him talk about Halfmoon and magicats. He knew more than anyone she'd met, even her mother. He loved his people. He loved his country - and he adored his Queen. He liked Catra well enough most of the time, and as much as she hated the long-winded arguments, she would never be able to claim he didn't listen to and think about every single thing she said.

She knew he did, because he argued her using her own words. She hated it, because he was good at it. She loved it, because she knew he heard her.

"We're asking them all to accept me. You know me. My mother knows me. Askar knows me. The people know you. It's - trust by association. But I want to show them I take this seriously. And I do! I don't think I have taken anything this seriously in my entire life, and that includes some life or death situations. I want to show our people - the people I am asking to let me lead them - that I take them seriously. That I see them. I hear them. I know they are there, and they are important. And - " she held up her claw. "I know how to do it. I think. But we're going to have to let go of some traditions. We're going to have to acknowledge things about me that aren't very Princess-y, and we're going to have to accept I am what I am and no amount of trying to put me in gowns or robes or writing poetic speeches is going to hide it. Okay?"

She knew she was right. She was also very uncomfortable with the things she did know, because even uncrowned, she could order Cloudfoot to let her do it her way. Her mother would give in, because Lyra wanted Catra to agree to the Coronation, despite Catra's deep and profound misgivings about doing it so fast.

But Catra wanted to win. She wanted to convince Cloudfoot she was right. If she could do that, she might have a chance of convincing the people of Halfmoon she was worth not killing for where she had come from. Maybe even believing in her - just a little bit.

Cloudfoot used his staff to pull a chair out. The portly old magicat settled himself. "Well, then. I suppose I should send for tisane and snacks. Let's hear it, your highness. What do you have in mind, and why shouldn't I try to talk long enough and loud enough to make you give in?"

There was a twinkle in his eyes and a smirk pulling at his mouth. The old bastard knew his ability to pontificate at a moment's notice and only stop talking when he was good and ready to was a lethal weapon when words were the weapon of choice.

Catra's tail lashed behind her and she narrowed her eyes at the Minister of State. She knew it was his backhanded way of saying 'tell me what I can do to help' but -

He enjoyed riling her up. He did it on purpose. That wasn't fair. Well, words were his weapons, but Catra had fought worse odds. Recently.

And she knew she was right.

"No tisane. Just - no. Snacks and juice, okay? And if you order in any of that foul purple stuff, I will beat you with your own stick. But yeah. I have some ideas."

Catra saw her mother lean back in her chair with a deeply satisfied and contented expression as she began to explain what she had in mind.

Fine. If this kind of stupid argument made her mother that happy, then Catra would sit here and debate with Cloudfoot all day.

And she could rile him up just as easily.

"Also. Before I get into any of that. Quick question. Dawn? Really? How do we define that, because last I checked we don't even have the sun. We are underground, so maybe we can just schedule it whenever I feel like?"

Lyra giggled as Cloudfoot sighed.

Mission accomplished.

Chapter Text

Catra's Room

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Three months after Catra's abduction

Catra heard her mother sneak in hours before dawn.

She knew she should have been sleeping. Or at least under her bed, resting. She'd tried! She really had. But instead, she was standing at the foot of her bed, still in her pajamas, stretching and running techniques to keep limber. She needed to be really limber for what she was about to endure.

She had to burn off some restless energy before her vigil. She needed a clear head and to not feel the urge to run back and hide under her bed.

This was it. Today was the day. She was about to be crowned Princess of Halfmoon. After today, there was no going back. No changing her mind. She would be a Princess of Etheria and would be the very thing she had been raised to fight and kill.

Somehow, it was fitting. It would certainly piss of Shadow Weaver, and Catra would be lying if she said it wasn't at least part of her motivation.

Melog was flopped out on the bed, determined to make use of it, even Catra did not. Which they did not understand, despite understanding their friend needed the safety of under the bed.

The bed could be used for cuddles, early in the morning. Instead of getting up and doing things. Melog was a big fan of cuddles with their person, and thought their person did not take enough time to lay down and just be.

Lyra smiled at her, shaking her head. "You hate sitting still. Today is going to be hard on you."

Catra did her best to shrug it off. Be nonchalant. Yeah, she was about to do the hardest thing she'd ever voluntarily done just to prove to people she'd never met she was the right girl to lead them.

Especially since she had ideas that would challenge - and change - their entire world. Maybe for the better. Maybe not. But it would change. Needed to change.

Halfmoon needed to be part of the world again. Catra was going to figure out how to make that happen.

"Yeah, well, who knows? Maybe I'll discover a new hobby of sitting and staring into the distance. Could happen. You don't know."

Lyra laughed. "You're right, I don't. But I think we both know the chances of you discovering a love for stillness and meditation isn't very likely."

Melog huffed from the bed, in complete agreement with the Queen. They did know, having taken up partial residence in Catra's mind. Catra was not a creature of stillness.

"Hush you."

They huffed again. Catra ignored it. They were supposed to be on her side!

Their eyes swirled; their version of an eye roll. The impulse to move and do was deep in her - unless she hunted. Then she was still. Stillness without the hunt was as important as stalking prey.

They knew Catra would eventually learn this.

Lyra sat on the bed and watched as Catra finished her exercise routine, then shook herself out. The Queen held up a hairbrush - it was white, but yellowed with age, but the bristles seemed almost brand new.

"I know you are eschewing a lot of tradition today - and I agree with you. You're right about this. What you're doing is beautiful and meaningful. And for all his guff, Cloudfoot thinks so, too."

Catra smirked, but there was a hint of a genuine smile behind it. "Yeah, I know. He would have made me argue a lot more if he didn't like my ideas. I've got him figured."

She liked Cloudfoot. He was good people. He cared and because he understood the why behind so much that people did, he was able to appreciate the changes she'd made. And help her make those changes matter as much as the traditions.

"Good. The two of you should get on. He's a good man and a good adviser. He tells us when we're wrong and that matters. We need people like him. Now, up here. Sit. There are some traditions I will not break, and me helping you get ready for your vigil is one of them. I am supposed to offer you 'counsel and wisdom' for your new reign as princess of Halfmoon, but I wasn't a princess for very long. My vigil was traditional, in front of the RuneStone - the very first time I saw it. It called me back to it as soon as I became Queen, and I had to learn a lot, very fast. Much like you. I've already given you the best advice I can on being a princess. But you are my daughter, and I am - so grateful -" The Queen's voice broke.

Catra hopped up onto the bed next to her. She leaned into her mother, pressing her face into her neck, her tail going around Lyra's waist. She understood. No matter what she'd lost, she had gained so much. So much she'd once refused to even think about.

Sometimes, she wondered if she'd hated thinking about it because part of her had remembered. Part of her couldn't reconcile the memories with being found in that box.

Found by Adora.

"So am I. Momma. I never - in a million years…I never thought…knew…"

Lyra sniffled, hugging Catra fiercely. "But I have you here. And, my heart, I would not trade this for anything. When you - if you - ever get the chance to do this with your own child, I want you to remember this part of the tradition. That your mother came just to be with you and celebrate the great thing, the meaningful thing, you have chosen to do."

Catra smiled and let herself sink into her mother's embrace. "Yeah. This part - I'll remember."

She was almost certain she would never have children of her own. Catra couldn't imagine herself with a man, much less having children with one. If she was lucky, she would get to tell Kittrina about the tradition for her child.

These were the moments Catra already cherished. Her mother coming to her just to be there with her. Not because she needed to talk to her or teach her, but just to be there. Catra hadn't figured out at first that's why Lyra was spending so much time with her, so Lyra had taken to telling her. So she didn't worry. Didn't doubt.

Her mother loved her. Her mother wanted her around. Her mother wanted every second she could get with Catra, for no other reason than she was Catra. Sometimes, Catra couldn't even fathom what that meant to her, and other times, she wanted to find a way to hold that feeling and curl around it.

Those were the times she had crept into her mother's office and laid down on the couch while Lyra worked. Sometimes, she asked questions and learned things. Other times, she just - was there with her.

Usually, Lyra would end up picking up her papers and tablet and moving to the couch, and Catra would end up with her head in her mother's lap and Lyra would work with one hand - the other hand would be petting her daughter.

It wasn't something Catra ever thought she would get enough of. Something she never would have known to want.

"So. While we wait for your outfit to arrive, I am going to brush you out. This brush is actually an heirloom just for coronations, can you believe that? Made from the tooth of an old beast of some kind. I never thought to get to use it. And you - whatever comes to your mind - you can tell me. I'm here for that, too. I know you are afraid you are not ready, you are not worthy - that our people won't see you for who you are."

Catra laughed softly, shifting so Lyra could get to her mane of hair. "I'm more afraid they will. They'll see the girl scared of her own power. The girl who couldn't cut it in the Horde. The girl who doesn't know what she's doing it."

Lyra brushed in silence for a minute. "I rather think, my heart, they will see why you are doing it, and that will count for more than you know. And the Horde's judgment of you is suspect, at best. You are more than they let you be. More than they acknowledged."

"I hope so." Catra bit her lower lip. Adora had told her the same thing; that Shadow Weaver and their trainers didn't see Catra the way Adora did. They didn't know who or what she was, but it was more than they claimed.

There were words there. Words - feelings - she wanted to share, but she didn't know if they were safe. Or what they meant. If they were fair to share.

Melog lazily rose from their comfortable spot and ambled over to Catra, shrinking as they did, until they were house cat sized. They circled and plopped down in her lap, pushing their head into her sternum with a quiet mewl of encouragement.

Lyra didn't stop brushing. She was almost done with Catra's hair. Somehow, she had produced a small bottle of lightly scented oil (probably from one of the many pockets she had sewn into all of her clothes) and was using it to soften and untangle Catra's mane.

"My heart?"

Catra looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. She felt her claws extend and retract, feeling the numb, dead places in her hands. Feeling the echoes of pain that had never gone away.

There was a sudden, heavy silence in the air.

"I never thought I would have an important moment without her with me." The words fell into the silence, hanging there, heavier than the quiet had been.

"Your Adora." Lyra's answer was a statement, not a question. They hadn't talked about Adora since Catra's failure that night, but Catra knew her mother had been curious. She had respected Catra's need to keep it to herself.

"Yeah." Her voice was a rasp, and for the first time in a while, she just let the tears fall. "Adora. My - best friend?" The term had fit, once, but since coming to Halfmoon and listening to people talk, she was starting to realize 'friend' didn't encompass what they had been to each other.

What they might have become.

What might have been there if it had been safe to feel. Catra had buried what she felt so deep she could barely recognize her own emotions about Adora some days, but she knew 'friend' was true. 'Best friend' was true. But there was so much more there she was still terrified to put a name to.

Something about Halfmoon made her think - if there had been no Shadow Weaver - there was hope Adora might have eventually felt the same way Catra did. If they had been allowed to feel -

"She - " Catra almost choked on the sob. "She would have been so excited about this. For this. For me. Every time I did something good - even if no one else saw it, she did. She would be happy for me. If she lost and I won, she got excited something good happened for me. She - "

Catra knew she had been so stupid about it. Getting mad when Adora got excited. Being mean instead of letting Adora hug her. Telling her not to say anything instead of thanking her for noticing.

How could Adora have ever grown into feeling anything when Catra had spent so much time pushing her away?

Another sob. This time, Lyra put the brush down and held Catra, threading her fingers through her hair.

"She used to try to protect me, when I did stupid things. Things I knew would get me in trouble. Shadow Weaver would hurt her to make me behave. Would hurt me to make Adora do what she wanted. But Adora never - she just kept doing it. Every time I couldn't stop myself. She never even got mad! I can't even sleep right anymore because she's not there. She's supposed to be there. She's supposed to fuss at me for coming to bed late! She's supposed to be a dummy about getting up early! She's supposed to complain when I make her stay in bed and cuddle instead of her getting up! She's supposed to make the bed even when it doesn't need it and she's supposed to tell me when I say something dumb!"

She missed Adora most at night when she went to bed. And in the mornings when she woke up. She missed wrapping herself around Adora in the mornings, trying to keep her in bed a few minutes longer. She missed Adora sleepily snuggling into her for a few minutes before getting up to work out. She missed watching Adora work out - the focus and determination she did everything with. The satisfaction she got when she did something perfect the first time. She had been so pretty like that, moving so smoothly. Gracefully, her hair flying around her.

Sometimes, she hadn't been able to hold herself back. To pretend she didn't feel and she'd pounced on Adora, needing to be close, touching, holding.

She missed crawling into bed when Adora was already mostly asleep and Adora latching on and sleep scolding her. Adora never fully slept until Catra was with her. Catra never felt safe falling all the way asleep until Adora was there.

She wondered if Adora had ever learned to sleep on her own. Catra knew she hadn't. Without Melog, she was afraid she never would have slept through the night, even once.

Lyra was rocking her back and forth now. "My heart…she - slept with you?"

Catra nodded, wiping her eyes. "Every night. Since always. Little kids to when I was taken. Shadow Weaver - she tried. Made me sleep at her feet, but - Adora would just turn around in the bed and put her head against mine and - " Her whole body shook. "She's alone now. No one cared - she was the leader, responsible for all of us, but they didn't listen to her, they just saw she was the favorite, and I was just like them for a while. We kept fighting about it. About her being 'special' and I would get so mad she didn't see it and she would get mad I never tried and she was right - I didn't. We were good that last night, though. I wasn't stupid that time. We just cuddled and it was - it was good. She was sick, but it wasn't bad! And who is going to make her drink water? Sneak her more water rations? I know they say we got enough, but Adora was always so thirsty and her skin was dry. That's how I got caught - how Shadow Weaver got me, to give me to Akrash. Sneaking out to steal water for her!"

There was so much she wanted to tell Momma. About Adora. About her and Adora. But so much of it was bound up in Adora's biggest secret - not being Etherian, like everyone else. Catra sometimes wondered, since meeting the Spirit Ember, if Adora had come from one of those many other worlds her mother had told her about.

But those were Adora's secrets, and Catra might well take them to her grave.

"Do you feel like you left her behind? Or that we stole you from her?"

There was such pain in Lyra's voice that Catra jumped up, turning. She grabbed her mother's shoulders. "No! Maybe, a little, at first. But Akrash didn't come into the barracks and take me. Shadow Weaver did. Akrash didn't tie me up and shock me senseless. I think he really thought he was rescuing me. Shadow Weaver did that. Shadow Weaver stole her from me."

The last words were spat with more rage and hatred than Catra thought she was capable of mustering. Melog's mane flashed blood red and a low growl emanated from him - loud enough and deep enough to be his full size growl.

Lyra cupped her cheek and Catra took a deep breath, pressing her face into her mother's hand.

"She did it on purpose. With malice aforethought, as Cloudfoot would say. So she could use Adora for her own plans. To use her powers for whatever she wanted. I was just - in the way."

Lyra looked her daughter right in the eyes. "I cannot promise we can help you get her back, Catra. But I do promise this. If there is ever a chance to help her, no matter how small, I will not stop you. I will give you all the aid I can. And I will give you every resource I can. I can give you that, if nothing else. I know it is not enough, my heart. I know that. I wish…"

Catra shook her head. "It is enough. Because it's more than I had. More than I hoped for. And that - she is why I'm doing this. Without her, I was alone in the Horde. Shadow Weaver and those traitors and the Horde, that's what they want to do to all of us. To the entire world. They want to take people away from each other. Impose order and rules and pain and ration bars and worse on every single person. I am going to be crowned Princess of Halfmoon because for the first time in my entire life, I will be able to stand up and do something about it. I know you don't want me to, but I will be fighting them. I will make them bleed for every step they take into our territory. I know how they think. I know how they fight - and I can make sure we win."

Lyra nodded slowly. "I know. No, my heart. I do not want you to fight the Horde. I would keep you safe in the walls of this castle if I thought I could. I have lost you once already, and to think of you fighting them - out there…"

She sighed and dropped her hands into her lap. "Catra, I love you with all that I am. You are my daughter and everything in me is screaming to keep you safe from what's out there. From facing the Horde again. But you are also a Princess of Halfmoon and a skilled enough fighter Askar is training you himself. You will be a powerful sorceress. You will be a wise Queen one day, when I step down. If I refuse to let you fight, you might grow to resent me as you hate Shadow Weaver, and that would kill me as surely as you dying in battle."

"No." Catra shook her head. "I could never feel about you the way I do about Shadow Weaver. I might - someday - be mad at you. Maybe. But…you are nothing like her and I don't think you know how to be. Never - never compare yourself to her again." She pressed her forehead to her mother's. "Momma. No. Don't do that to yourself. Please."

Lyra smiled. "I promise. Never again. But my sentiment stands. I love you, therefore I must risk you. I believe in you, therefore, I must let you risk yourself. We have a duty to our people, one you are willingly taking on. I cannot - will not - shame you and force you to be less than you are because I fear. Now, turn around. Let me help you get ready."

Catra shifted again, and her mother picked up the brush.

"And now, my heart," Lyra started again on her hair. "I want you to tell me about your Adora. Even if you cannot ever speak of her with anyone else, you can with me."

Catra laughed softly. "She found me. In a box, in an alley. She somehow got away from Shadow Weaver and found me and wanted to keep me. She - "

Catra wouldn't remember exactly what she told her mother, but she would remember laughing and crying and remembering the person she missed the most in the world.

She would remember understanding she was afraid becoming Princess meant letting Adora go. And she would remember realizing that becoming Princess in fact as well as name meant she would be fighting for Adora.

For the chance to someday have Adora back. If it were ever to be possible, it would be because she was Princess.

By the time Catra heard people knocking on her door, she'd managed to hide most of the evidence she'd been crying and her mother had groomed her better than she'd ever been groomed - at least, as far as she could recall.

Lyra got up and kissed the top of her head. "Fair warning. You're about to be invaded. There are a lot of people who wanted to be here for this. They're almost as proud and excited as I am."

Catra ducked her head to hide her face. She wasn't used to it yet - the idea there was more than just Adora and now her mother who cared. Who were invested in her success. In her.

She stood, turning to face her door, anxiety fluttering in her stomach. She wasn't ready for it to start. She wasn't ready to take the next steps.

She had to. For herself. For her mother. For her people. For Adora.

Her mother grinned at her, and Catra saw a virtual parade of people file into her bedroom. Askar strode in, rubbing his massive hands together with glee. Him, she understood - he'd had a direct hand in creating her 'outfit' for her Coronation.

Cloudfoot and Percival followed, and behind them were four porters moving an absolutely massive wooden wardrobe. (Catra made another mental note to ask Cloudfoot about how they got wood. And a second mental note to revisit the need for Adora-style lists.)

She side-eyed the servants. She did not need help getting dressed, thank you. Her mother helping was one thing, but not servants. They were pushing the wardrobe in, and Catra had to admit it was beautiful. It was exquisitely carved from dark red wood, with each corner seeming to be a pillar of fire and the doors were inlaid with copper and small red gems, as if flames had been frozen and preserved in the doors.

And behind the wardrobe was Kesi, Percival's loyal assistant. Only this time, she was clad in the maroon and gray uniform of household staff, the crescent moon and flames over her chest. Her long hair was tied back in an intricate braid threaded with copper wire, but her piercings hadn't changed.

After the much more flamboyant outfit Kesi had worn when Catra first met her, she was always somewhat startled to see Kesi in uniform. Kesi moved differently in the uniform. It stuck out to Catra - she was less fluid. Her mental picture of Kesi didn't include the formal stiffness of the uniform.

Or the copper sash around her waist, matching the copper bands around her wrists - the uniform additions Cloudfoot and Percival had created to mark someone part of Catra's personal staff, the same way her mother's staff wore gold accents and maroon cuffs.

And the thin indorium torc around her neck indicating her position as a Seneschal of the Castle, now second in rank only to Percival himself - marking her as Catra's Chief of Staff and Services.

With hesitant confidence, she walked right up to Catra and curtsied, her tail wrapped around her wrist. She paused, as if uncertain. "Catra."

Kesi had remembered; Catra's name meant something to her. Kesi remembered the day she'd helped Catra build her wardrobe. Build her image as Princess of Halfmoon - and how important to her it had been people used her name, not her titles.

Catra looked over at her mother. "Fine. You're probably right about it."

Lyra flicked an ear. "I know I am."

Catra looked back at her Seneschal. "You know I'm a pain to work with. Now you're stuck working for me. So, congratusorry?"

Kesi grinned. "I will remind you, I did tell you your self-awareness about it brings you back around to 'easy to deal with.' At least, so far. But if you'd prefer someone else…"

Catra shook her head. She hadn't meant to make Kesi feel self-conscious already. "Kesi, I have no idea who else I would even ask. If I have to have a staff, it's probably best you're in charge of it. I know you, a little. You know me, a little. And can put up with me. I'd have to argue with whoever else got stuck with the job about using my name. Too much work."

Kesi curtsied again. This time, with a smirk. "As you say, my lady." She spun away as Catra glowered, grateful Kesi was already willing to tease her.

Not being able to banter with her Seneschal would have been awkward.

Lyra stepped next to her daughter. "With a few exceptions, Kesi will be in charge of putting your staff together. You'll need more people than you think, but less than you fear, and I've instructed her to keep it as minimal as possible. Some positions, you'll have to fill yourself, over time - your Advisory Council will be yours to build. Mostly. Some positions, by law, I have to appoint."

Catra grimaced, but nodded. She'd been given a decent overview of her need for staff during the run up for the Coronation, but she hadn't done much with it except decide she wasn't ready to do much with it. Cloudfoot and Lyra had agreed with her - she didn't know enough people yet to make informed decisions, so they would build the core and let Catra fill in the rest as she went.

Which meant Kesi would be filling the positions. Catra had no idea how to pick people for things like 'chef.' Or decide who was in charge of cleaning her spaces - her rooms, her office, and anywhere else she ended up needing. An archivist - for whatever reason.

Catra watched as Kesi directed the porters to put the wardrobe in place - given she'd helped with Catra's thorough redesign of her rooms at the same time she'd sat for her wardrobe, her new Seneschal knew where it should go.

Decisions Catra didn't have to worry about. That would be one nice thing about having staff.

"It was your father's." Lyra gestured at it. "For his armor and weapons. Now, for yours."

The wardrobe was set into place with a heavy thunk, and Catra was staring at it with something she thought might have been awe. She walked up to it, tracing her fingers along the flames and looked back over at her mother.

"Don't you want - "

Lyra smiled, watching as Kesi escorted the servants out, thanking each one for helping. The Queen put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I want you to have something of his, my heart. Go on. Open it."

Catra reached out and tugged open the doors. Inside was the armor her mother and Askar had commissioned for her, carefully arranged and hung. There was a place for her staff and her batons.

She stared at the armor for a long moment - it was beautiful. A work of art. The interlocking plates were much slimmer and more articulated, to give her as much mobility as she could want. Each seemed delicate, but she could tell the indorium was strong and light. It had more coverage than the armor she had stolen, especially on her legs and back. She saw the tunic from the original set and several pieces from her trophy armor had been used in their entirety. It was fitted for her - carefully measured and reforged to be hers. There was a sling for her staff to go over her back, and places on the belt for her batons.

Lyra pointed at a few things. "The gauntlets were your father's, reforged for you. The belt was mine, when I served as a sorceress with the Guard. We melted down and used metal from the masks of those who broke into your room and bits from the assassin's gear to forge the back plates. The gorget was your father's, resized for you. The sling is what your great-grandfather used to carry his staff into battle."

And hanging next to it was a maroon coat - the Baron's coat. Tailored and remade - redyed - for her. It was a long coat and would fall to her knees, but the sleeves wouldn't be too long or the shoulders too wide. Where his house emblem had been, there was now the symbol of Halfmoon - the crescent moon in front of flames. On the left shoulder was the Horde's insignia, with a black line bisecting it diagonally. Below that was the Baron's house emblem, with the same.

On the right shoulder was the symbol of her mother's family - a teardrop made of fire, with wings spreading out from it.

The gold had been replaced with copper, and most of the worst of the ostentation had been removed. There was a stripe of purple around the collar and around the wrists, but it was now her coat.

Catra ran her fingers along it, feeling the quality of the material. She had no idea what it was, only that it was smooth and soft.

She turned and saw Askar's smug satisfaction. "Your trophies, warrior. Armor and raiment fit for a Princess. Fully functional, easy to move and fight in. Indorium's light, flexible, and durable. Your mother enchanted the coat herself."

"I did most of the work resizing it and dying it," Kesi admitted. "I didn't want anyone else messing with your clothes. Not after -"

Catra nodded, her throat tight. "Yeah. No. I appreciate that. If anyone knows - well, it'd be you. You figured it all out for me when I didn't even know where to start."

Kesi smiled and curtsied again. "That is my job. Now, the rest of you, go wait outside. Catra has to change and if we make her wait too long, she might forget all the rules I tried to teach her and scandalize you all."

Lyra laughed. "She would, wouldn't she?"

Catra rolled her eyes. "We're in my room. My clothes are in this thing. I have a schedule. But still, scandal. Girl changes in her own bedroom! And yet, I would be allowed - even encouraged - to change in front of or with the help of castle staff. That makes no sense. At all."

Lyra stood motionless for a long moment, blinking. "I suppose - it really doesn't. I will have to think on that. I don't think your observation will change anything, but, you do have a point."

Percival sighed. "One day, I will sit you down and go over it in detail, and perhaps use charts and diagrams. While your statement is not incorrect, it doesn't take into account…"

Cloudfoot tugged his husband's arm. "Come along, Percy. You can lecture Catra about propriety later. I am sure she will do something scandalous before too long and give you the opportunity to try to inculcate decorum into her."

Catra shrugged. "I probably will! I promise I'll sit and listen to the lecture then! Best I can do!"

Percival sighed as Lyra finished shoving him out the door, following them with a flick of her tail.

Askar rolled his eyes. "They're not soldiers, Princess. It unsettles them. We view the body differently than they do. Warriors, soldiers - we train and turn ourselves into weapons. We interact with physicality differently, and that changes perceptions - and propriety - in our spaces. You're young yet, which makes it not wholly comfortable for me, either, but don't let them shame you for not understanding. Just remember they want to protect you from harm in their own way - as much as you and I protect them from harm in ours."

Kesi looked at Askar, arms over her chest. "Are you planning on staying?"

Askar shook his head. "No. Not in the least. But I wanted to let you both know if you require help with the armor, I will be just outside."

Catra peered at the armor, running her fingers over it. "It does look more complicated than the assassin's armor."

Askar nodded. "It is, but it also looks more complex than it is. It's designed for flexibility and speed as much as protection. We'll drill with it until you can get it on and off as fast as you can your more normal outfits, but for today - "

"For today," Kesi's voice was amused, but stern. "I will assist Catra if she needs it. I was involved in every step of designing and creating this armor, General. As you well know. Go and wait with the others. She will be out presently."

Askar bowed to the Seneschal, grinning. "Fine, fine! I leave her in your hands."

After the door closed behind him, Kesi shook her head.

Catra tilted her head. "Did he overstep?"

Kesi laughed. "No, he didn't. At all. That's the thing. I know you don't see it, but - the General wants to stand in the place your father would have. Not take his place, but to be a man you can respect, trust, and turn to - a warrior to teach and guide a warrior. Armor seems to be an important part of that. I imagine for soldiers, armor and weapons have as much meaning as gowns and jewels and makeup do for courtiers."

Catra nodded, again running her fingers over her armor. "You can read armor and weapons. Stances and movements. This is subtle, but clear. Speed and precision. Agility and versatility. His armor speaks of the unbreakable bulwark - a fighter you can't step up to and not be broken against."

Kesi nodded. "I thought so. I would also think putting armor on the first time - has meaning?"

Catra shrugged. "That, I don't know. Probably. The only armor I ever wore, I stole or was for training. But I also don't imagine I'll end up not wearing armor very often. At least, in some form. I'm a fighter - a warrior, Askar says - and already I've had to fight once. It'll happen again."

Kesi nodded, then paused. She looked right at Catra and braced herself.

"Princess - Catra - I…will you let me help you? I didn't lie - the Queen, she told Percival and I she intended me to be your Seneschal. I did what I do and maybe sorta took over them making your armor and coat, so I do know your armor. And…this…"

Catra turned and fixed Kesi with a narrow-eyed gaze. She could dress herself! But what she saw made her pause. Kesi's eyes were wide and hopeful - and anxious. She knew what she was asking.

Melog whispered in her mind. Trust. Pause. Hear. And learn. They were rarely that serious, that intent on getting her to stop and listen to someone. Usually, they were content to let Catra make her own mistakes or pursue her own path, but this was important enough they pushed.

Catra paused. She kept her voice soft. "Tell me."

"I chose this. I wasn't supposed to be this. No one in my family serves. In any way. They are crafters. They create. So do I, but I chose to try to do more with what I create than sell it for profit. I wanted my creations to have meaning. Either in the cave-culture or in my role as a steward. I ask - just this once - because this, today, has meaning. Not just to you or the court, but to everyone in Halfmoon. Most of us don't get to contribute to things like Coronations, but I - I do."

She took a deep breath, her tail in her hands, her eyes wide, refusing to look down. "You mean something to us. In the pubs and the dance rooms and the gaming halls. In theaters and in homes, people talk. You were born a Princess, but you were taken from us by cowards who wanted to use you. You came back a warrior and then - then you chose us. You didn't have to. But you did. We - the staff - treated you badly. The guards hunted you that first day! And you still chose us all. You stood out there that night and you fought him! You looked fearless. Unstoppable. You didn't wait for the guard to fight and die for you - neither did the Queen. You jumped from the castle and right into the fight. You stole their armor. You defeated their leader. Then you stood on him, and you didn't order anyone to stop fighting and let the guard or the soldiers handle it. You let your people stand for ourselves! You trusted us to fight our battles the way you fought yours! It meant something then and it means something now, and so do you."

Kesi's ears were back, and Catra could see the tension in her. The fear - and the determination to make Catra see something she'd missed.

Just like Catra had with Cloudfoot, only days before.

Kesi wasn't done. "The rumors - they say that very night you and your mother went to the Spirit Ember and you connected to it. Because you didn't want to risk failing Halfmoon by not having the power a Princess needs! You came back with a spirit guardian!"

Melog raised their head and huffed. They were not a spirit guardian, but that was the story Akrash and Lyra had decided on to explain them. Just as expected, they hadn't been able to hide for very long, but had managed to make their appearances slowly, until people got used to the idea the Princess had a size-shifting, sometimes invisible cat with her almost all the time.

Catra gave Kesi a small smile. "Mostly right about the Spirit Ember. I went down to see it, not connect with it. I have some - issues with magic I have to deal with. To be fair, I have issues with a lot of things I have to deal with. The dumb fire rock connected to me."

Kesi laughed, shaking her head. "That…doesn't help. Catra, the RuneStone met you and decided 'she's the Princess?' And you're worried? Let me gossip about that and no one will ever doubt. You chose us and the Spirit Ember chose you. You're Halfmoon's princess. Crown or not."

Catra groaned and Melog laughed in her head. Percival had warned her - sometimes, gossip was a tool as much as it was a pain in the tail.

"What are you asking, Kesi? And why are you asking it?" She really didn't know what she was supposed to say to all of that - it was overwhelming, but she'd have all day to think about it.

But she couldn't deny Kesi's bravery.

Kesi let her tail drop. "The cave-culture - you're important to us. You wear our piercings, but you came from the outside. To us, it means you not just accept us, but you're going to change things. You changed yourself and you've already changed thing, even if you don't know it. Maybe - maybe find a way to let us be a part of the world without losing what we've built here. You're our princess! You mean something to us. To me! Me - the tailor girl - I gave you your piercings! I helped you shape how you're seen! Now? Now I'm not a tailor or a steward. Or an assistant! Me - a cave girl from a bunch of greedy merchants with no name to speak of and less reputation - am the Seneschal to the Princess of Halfmoon. And - this is the one time in my life I get to help a Princess prepare for a Coronation, and it's you and I don't want to not -"

She cut herself off, and Catra felt Melog's smug patience and gentle prod.

"Yes." Catra sighed, holding up her hand. "Just this once. For the sake of honoring tradition - and thanking you for what you've done for me. I won't take that away from you. But only this once."

Kesi let out a slow breath. "Thank you."

Not willing to give Catra time to change her mind or re-think it, Kesi pulled open the drawers of the wardrobe, pulling out the dark maroon leggings and shirt that would go under the armor.

"These, I think you should put on yourself. So I'm not getting - too personal."

Relieved Kesi was at least meeting her halfway, Catra quickly changed her pajamas for the clothes, grateful they were a good fit and solid material. Heavy enough to protect her from the armor, but thin enough not to weigh her down or overheat her.

Letting Kesi put on the armor wasn't as awkward as Catra was afraid it was going to be - but it wasn't smooth. She had to hold herself still and let Kesi move her around a bit. She had to rely on Melog to help rein in some of her more instinctive reactions, but it went fast enough.

She'd grown up in the Horde. Body shyness wasn't something she'd ever learned. Even after months in Halfmoon, she rolled her eyes at it. Changing clothes behind closed doors. Bathing alone. (That one bothered her. She was vulnerable then and no one was watching her back!)

Kesi didn't seem to share Halfmoon's embarrassment. She didn't know if it was the cave culture or that she was a tailor or a servant, but it did make things easier and less awkward than it could have been.

Once Kesi had helped her into the coat, she let everyone back in as Catra secured her weapons.

That, she did herself. Her batons went on the belt. Various backup weapons and tricks she'd had Askar and Percival find for her were secreted away in the pockets she'd asked be sewn into the armor, and she slid her staff into the sling.

Lyra smiled as she walked in. "You look - quite royal, my heart. A Princess and warrior Halfmoon will be proud of. And a daughter I am very proud of."

The Queen wiped at her eyes, and held up her hand, willing a mirror spell into existence. And Catra didn't recognize herself in her reflection. If not for her mismatched eyes, she wouldn't know who she was looking at.

The armor gleamed under the long coat, and her staff slung across her back made her look more like a princess - and more like a warrior - than she'd ever felt before. She finally felt like she had transformed herself into someone new.

Someone she had wanted to become. In armor made for her, with her weapons, her coat, Catra felt like she was finally Princess Catra and not just Cadet Catra in a Princess costume.

Her mother's pride helped. Maybe she was starting to see in herself what they all kept telling her they saw in her?

"Thank you, Momma."

Lyra wrapped Catra in a tight hug and whispered: "Your father would have been proud, too. My heart, he would have been so proud of the woman you are becoming. Of the leader you are becoming. And of the warrior you already are."

Adora would have loved her armor and her coat. Adora would have fought Kesi to help Catra get dressed and ready. And Adora wouldn't have left her side for the vigil - rules or not. But just like the Horde and the traitors had taken her father from her, Shadow Weaver and the Horde had taken Adora from her.

She couldn't get back all she lost, but as Princess - maybe she could keep others from losing what she had lost.

Melog's whispered approval helped; and they were right - Kesi's words and desire to be a part of the Coronation, because it had meaning to her and to the people she knew - had helped.

Even her piercings weren't out of place with her outfit; it added something to it she couldn't name, but it felt like her. (She was definitely going to get more. She liked the look. A lot.)

A gong rang out through the halls of the castle, signaling the hour before dawn. As the echo faded, Askar shoved her towards her door. "Come on. Get your cat and let's get you fed. I'm not letting the royal court feed you today. You need a soldier's meal if you're to stand post all day."

"Vigil! It is a vigil!" Cloudfoot muttered as they walked out of Catra's bedroom. "It is a sacred ritual to mark her preparedness to take on the role of…"

Askar shoved him, too - lightly. "She's standing a watch, Cloudfoot. The watch is over all of us, and it's a duty shift marking a promotion. But she's a soldier and a warrior, first. We don't forget where we came from. It informs who we become. Princess or not, our Catra is a soldier of Halfmoon and I honor that as much as I do her royal title or the magic she'll learn."

Catra looked up in shock. Our Catra. That had emotional impact. That had meaning. She wanted to hug the old General, and she had no idea where the impulse came from. So she just bumped him with her shoulder.

And he respected her as a soldier - and saw that as being just as important as her being a princess. That mattered to her, too.

She nodded slowly. "No matter what else I become, I'll always be a soldier. A warrior. Now, I'm fighting for something I believe in. I'll stand my watch - my vigil - and then I'll become a crowned princess. But whether soldier or princess doesn't matter. It's all duty, and that will never change."

Chapter Text

The Plaza

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Three months after Catra's abduction

Catra walked out the massive main doors of Halfmoon Castle just moments before the false dawn of their underground city began.

The guards pulling open the doors locked them in place with massive indorium bolts, the sound echoing through the cavern. The doors would remain open during her vigil. There would be no hiding from anyone in or out of the castle.

The castle itself was built into the furthest back wall of the city - the southern wall - carved deep into the rock and extending forward in an edifice of polished marble, impenetrable walls, and soaring towers. At the very front of the castle, between the doors and the stairs, was a massive stone plaza overlooking the main marketplace and central district of Halfmoon.

The symbol of Halfmoon was inlaid in the stone of the courtyard; Cloudfoot had told her molten indorium had been poured in after the symbol had been carved into the marble and sealed in place with magic. It was as smooth and glossy as the marble itself.

Catra would hold her vigil there, between the castle and the city. At the very top of the stairs down into Halfmoon itself, where she had defeated the Baron.

The stone was cool under her feet as she slowly crossed the plaza. Lyra, in flowing formal robes of deep iridescent purple and gold, followed, flanked by Askar and Cloudfoot. Behind her came Akrash and other sorcerers - even the priests Catra had never interacted with. Scholars and advisers followed them in a stately procession. The rest of the Royal Council looked on from balconies overlooking the plaza, along with nobles and elected leaders from Halfmoon.

The procession stopped halfway across the plaza.

Catra kept walking when they stopped.

She came to the top of the steps up to the castle, flanked on either side by massive, towering torches. Each was set into a plinth of blue-black marble, adorned with runes old enough only scholars understood what they might mean.

Or the most learned sorcerers. The torches were magic, and the color of their tall, bright flames were signals to the people of Halfmoon. It had been a long time since they had been lit, but every child in Halfmoon had to memorize the colors. Had to remember - in case the royal family had to warn the people.

The last time they had been lit had been the night Catra had been taken. They had burned for a week after in mourning for the lost Princess and the death of Catra's father. Now, as she sat vigil for her people, the torches would burn again - from dawn to dawn, announcing the Coronation of Halfmoon's lost daughter, returned to her people, assuming her rightful place.

Catra sat cross-legged between the torches, her staff across her legs. She wasn't ready, but she was where she needed to be.

It would have to do. It was all she had.

She knew Melog was there, invisible, watching her from near the doors. Their presence in her mind told her they would be there all day - from dawn to dawn. They would not let her stand her vigil alone. As long as they were with her, she would never truly be alone again.

Part of her felt like she would always be alone without Adora.

Flickers of darkness teased at the edges of her vision when she thought about Adora. It tugged on her nascent magic with echoes of pain and fear. What Catra was terrified Adora was living through every day under Shadow Weaver's thumb without anyone to protect her.

Not that Catra had done a very good job protecting Adora, but at least she had been a comfort.

She knew she needed to find a way to let Adora go. At least enough she could be patient while she discovered if her plan would work.

Behind her, Lyra spread her arms and without a single uttered incantation, lit the torches for the first time since her own Coronation. Lenio had lit them after the coup - Lyra had not been able to bring herself to.

Silver-gold fire reached up, almost in slow motion, as if the air itself were catching on fire. Strands of flame twined together as the fires shone brightly in the pre-dawn darkness of the sleeping city.

Lyra spoke, her voice echoing and carrying forward - messengers would go forth with the news, and there were already people waiting at the foot of the steps, cameras in hand. Other cameras were watching and listening to her from the castle and placed around here. She didn't know exactly where, but she knew they were there. Her entire vigil would be recorded and broadcast to the entirety of Halfmoon.

(She had learned Halfmoon protected their broadcasts from the Horde by using frequencies the Horde couldn't tap into. Halfmoon's technology was based on Osirian tech, where most of Etheria used technology built on the First Ones. It wasn't better or worse, but it was different enough Halfmoon was protected from most Horde signal intelligence gathering.)

Lyra took three steps forward, standing between the procession and Catra. Her voice carried, now projected by magic.

It was always magic in Halfmoon. Even their tech was powered by magically charged crystals. Catra preferred not to think on it very long, feeling the edge of panic creeping up on her when she let herself understand what it meant. What it meant to constantly be surrounded by magic - that magic powered the world around her. Magic wards protected their city and settlements. Magic was at the heart of Halfmoon, and magic still terrified her - though she could control the fear much better now.

At least she knew the Spirit Ember wasn't evil. Ancient and unknowable and powerful, beyond hope or reason, yes. It might even be beyond concepts like 'good' or 'evil' - at least Catra understood them.

"Princess Catra Dr'iluth, Heir to the Crescent Throne of Halfmoon, Heir to the Fires of the Lost Temple, Child of the Ancients, from dawn unto dawn, you shall stand vigil for your people. You will stand watch for what may come. You will stand ready for what you must do. Do you accept this charge, for the sake of your people, for the sake of all those who have gone before and all those who are yet to come?"

Without turning, Catra stared out at the city, watching as the first hints of blue and gold light began to play out over the stalactites hanging from the ceiling; an aurora that would spread and brighten, timed to the sun's passage far above them. Shimmers of orange and purple joined the strands of blue and gold as it spread across the ceiling, wrapping around hanging stones and small crystal nodes naturally embedded in the caver ceiling, grasping hold of and kindling to life the false sunlight that would drape itself across Halfmoon.

Dappled light poured over the city, slowly brightening. Slowly pushing back the gloom of night, when only the faintest glimmers of blue and purple and red flickered through the air and across the stone.

Catra knew she was supposed to speak the words Cloudfoot had drilled into her. She also knew those words weren't right for her. They were beautiful words. Strong words. Noble in purpose and crafted so a princess could speak of their devotion to Halfmoon.

She knew changing her response could get her in trouble with a lot of people. (Minister Imoh's lot would have full on conniptions.) But the memorized response hadn't sat well with her, even as she'd been learning it. She also knew she didn't have anyone who knew her well enough to give her the advice she needed, but she also knew what Adora would have said. She'd told her often enough.

"Just say what you mean, but say it in a way people can hear it. Otherwise, I'm the only one who knows what you mean!"

Her blue eyes would flash with frustration, but her hand on Catra's arm would be supportive. Adora had usually understood what she meant. Catra knew what Adora hadn't; it wasn't that people hadn't understood her. It was that none of them cared or listened.

No one but Adora.

She could say what she needed to - and in a way they could hear. She could answer her mother and still show Halfmoon she was ready to be crowned. Ready for what was next.

She would stand for them.

Her voice was soft, but she felt the magic carry it outward. "I am not ready, but I am vigilant. I know not what may come, but the watch is mine. I know not what I am to do, but I stand ready. I stand vigil for the people I have never known, but have always been mine. For the sake of those who have gone before me; for the promiser of those yet to come, and because of those who have welcomed me as their own."

She swore she heard Cloudfoot sigh. Not a bad start to the morning. He'd be thinking about that until he got a chance to scold her about it - which could be awhile.

She looked back up at the ceiling, arguing with the imaginary Adora - refusing to acknowledge how unlikely it was she'd ever argue with the real one again.

"I know what I mean too, Adora!"

Catra watched the lights brighten and spread out, revealing the city. Low houses with flat, open rooftops where people could gather or work or just be. Some were two or even three stories, and many businesses and government buildings were taller. Some of the buildings were built into existing features of the great cavern. Many houses were built going down, further underground - Catra knew there was a maze of tunnels and caverns further down where a huge portion of her people lived and worked. Where most of the schools and hospitals were hidden away.

It was there, in the lower city where the venerable Hall of the Lost Temple waited - the college for sorcerers and physicians and the civic magicians who built and powered and repaired the city.

Far below the lower city was where the Lost Temple and the RuneStone were hidden.

There were buildings carved into the walls of the cavern, spreading outward from those walls. There were buildings carved into stalagmites and stalactites. Ramps, bridges, and magic-powered pulleys with small baskets and enclosed boxes for people to ride in curled and swirled and stretched across Halfmoon, from the walls to the stalagmites and stalactites, filling the edges and artificial sky with a dizzying landscape of connected threads pulling the city together.

And in the center of it all was a lake big enough and deep enough to be a small inland sea, stretching far into the distance. It teemed with fish and predators and stranger beings still. It glowed with phosphorescent light, spilling soft blue into the gloom. There was a rogue colony of fishfolk deep to the west, where the lake vanished under a wall. There were plans, Catra knew, to open a tunnel there, and find out if the lake went all the way to the Growling Sea the way the cartographers thought. Even if it did, the lake itself was freshwater. Somehow.

(Catra privately though that meant there was something between the lake and the Growling Sea, but no one had asked her. What did she know anyway? The Horde's education was thorough, but focused on conquest. She knew how to bring down walls; she knew how to use walls. She knew how to use and destroy roads. Keeping a city running smoothly, expanding a city safely - these were for other people. Not soldiers.)

The far shore, she knew, was the most protected of all Halfmoon, because there were the farms and gardens, where sorcerers used their arts to grow the plants they needed, despite the lack of the sun. There were fields where herds grazed, tended and cared for by shepherds and magicians, feeding an entire people.

A vast, interconnected nation hidden below the world. Her nation. Her people. Adora would have been fascinated by them. Excited Catra had a people - she had always been far more interested who where they might have come from than Catra was.

They had been in the Horde; they had to focus on surviving there, first. Other questions could wait until things were better. If they ever were.

Adora had always wanted to know. Everything.

"Do you? Do you really know what you mean, Catra?"

Adora's voice, soft and warm and affectionate - worried for her, rang through her thoughts - a memory of what she should have had.

The light grew brighter, and the torches to either side of her seemed less meaningful, less intimidating in the face of a city slowly waking under the glow of the most complex magics Catra had ever seen.

She knew her people had explored deep into Subtheria, mapping it and finding every hazard, every pocket of corrupted magic, every other people thriving in the dark world. They had made alliances with some and fought with others - just as they still fought against regular incursions by the Horde.

She saw people start to meander out of their houses and into the streets. She saw families setting up breakfast on their rooftops. She saw shops begin to open, and life begin to start for Halfmoon.

She found herself staring in wonder at it. They were her people. Magicats, like her. A whole nation of them. A whole entire society with history and culture and customs and traditions - even when she eschewed them or did her own thing.

Yeah, Adora. This time…this time, I think I know what I mean. Maybe the others did, too.

For once.

She heard a thunk next to her as someone set down a folding chair. To her surprise (and some dismay), Minister Cloudfoot sat down next to and slightly behind her. She knew various people would come and sit with her from time to time during the day - not so much to keep her company, but to instruct her, and watch her.

There was purpose in everything happening.

She'd been hoping Cloudfoot would be her minder later in the day. After her impromptu revision of the ritual words had been muddled by a few hours of time.

"I get to be first, mostly because I wanted to be. Age hath its privileges, even if we're often too damn old to appreciate them."

She heard him pour something and the bitter bite of a heavy tisane stung her nose. Of course he would choose tisane.

Old bastard.

"Princess, you are an anomaly. You defy categorization. You defy convention. You defy tradition. And you defy the quite ridiculous reasons most people defy anything. Want me to continue?" There was such smug glee in his voice that Catra wished she were allowed to move more. Or speak more.

Just so she could thwap him. Not hard. Just a little.

He knew she could respond to each person who spoke with her once. What she said, how she said it - she would be judged on that. It wouldn't change the outcome; unless she failed in her vigil and had to give up, she would be crowned Princess of Halfmoon.

But her responses would define how people thought of her.

She also knew she would be approached by various people from Halfmoon. People could approach her and speak with her if they wanted. Or sit with her. Or watch her, if that's what they felt they needed to do.

The advisers and Councilors who sat with her could give her permission, if she needed it, to say or do more than a single response - but she knew that was highly unlikely to happen. She didn't really expect many people to approach her. Much less want any kind of an answer from her.

But Catra knew - how she would be treated. How the other nobles saw her. How the people saw her. How her soldiers would see her. That is what she defined today.

It's why she hadn't wanted any guards, other than those on the castle. She needed the people to know she wasn't afraid of a fight - or of them. (She was definitely afraid of the people. She barely knew them. They barely knew her. Today, she they would judge her.)

"Of course you do! Why wouldn't you want my excessive wisdom and unrivaled advice?" He laughed at his own joke, but Catra had to admit, Cloudfoot's tendency towards self-deprecation was both amusing and heartwarming. And heartbreaking. He knew he annoyed people and set expectations based on it. She had to wonder how many times he had been sent away, told not to be or not to do when he was young. Now, he advised a Queen and helped set the course of a nation, but she wondered if there was as much pain in the cheerful old scholar as there was in the rest of them.

"Most people, when they ignore me, they think they are being cute or funny or smarter than I am. They think they know so much or I know little. They think tradition exists to vex them personally! As if a thousand generations before them cared what they would think. Those who came before did as they thought was right and best, as we do now! Hah! Hubris. Entitlement. I'm guilty of these myself, of course. We all are. But you, your highness. You defy my wisdom and deny tradition because you think, for whatever reason, you are not enough. That if you spoke the traditional words this morning, your past, your path back to us would somehow taint it. Somehow make a mockery of it. Your choice to change the vigil - that was well done. Done with compassion. With understanding. With a heart for your people and not a heart for the power and glory heaped at the feet of a princess of Etheria. I knew then, as I know now, that you will grow, and we will grow with you. I very much look forward to that journey."

He paused and sipped his tisane. "When you defy tradition, you don't do it because you think the tradition is bad because it is tradition, but because it doesn't fit you. You absorb every lesson I teach you about our history. You have asked me more questions about our society and culture than even the smallest, most inquisitive child."

She really had. Every chance she got to have ten minutes with him when he didn't already have a topic for her, she would pepper him with questions about how things worked. Why things were a certain way. How people lived and what they did.

He'd always had an answer for her. Always had the patience to talk about it until she felt she understood, even if he had to repeat the same thing a dozen ways until he found one that sunk in. He never treated her like she was stupid. He never treated her like she was ignorant. He never treated her like she was a nuisance. He got excited at her questions and spent most of their debates smiling and laughing.

"This morning, you chose new words. You chose words that fit you and what you are doing. What you will do as our princess. You spoke your truth to us. You spoke your truth before your people. You offered something of yourself to us all in lieu of a tradition you don't feel a part of."

He took another sip and she heard him shuffling around behind her.

"I also know you are wrong, princess. You defy tradition because you are afraid it does not belong to you. It does. It belongs to every magicat on this world or any other. Whether the Old Clans a world away from us or pockets of our own people finding their way in other caverns or even still in the world above, our tradition is theirs. As it is yours. That it was stolen from you, that you were stolen from us, is no shame. You bear no shame for what you endured. You bear no shame for not knowing what is yours by right. You bear no shame, my princess, for who you are. You came back to us, a strong and defiant warrior, yes! Skilled with feats of battle! Simply astounding physical prowess, speaking of dedication and training!"

She heard more tisane pouring. "But, your highness. You also came back to us wanting to learn who we are. Who you can become. You came to us with questions. You challenge us. You offer respect, when we have done little to earn it. You offer service, when it is we who are supposed to serve you. You ask for acceptance, when that is but the beginning of what we should be giving you. Be not ashamed, Princess Catra. I am not ashamed of you. I am proud. I am proud to serve your mother. And I am proud to serve you."

His hand slowly extended in front of her, a small, silver cup of tisane steaming in the cool morning. "And I am proud of the words you chose this morning. They were not tradition, but they were well spoken and showed an understanding of the meaning behind our traditions. And that, Catra, is far more important than knowledge. Or rote adherence to traditions - no matter how meaningful they may be."

Catra blinked and reached up with both hands, cradling the cup in her palms. "It is a scholar's drink. A bit bitter for you, perhaps, but it will keep your eyes open as the morning drags on. And as I ramble on."

Catra hadn't been sure what she would say to him until that moment. She looked back over her shoulder at him. "Stop that. Stop - making light of what you have to say, of yourself. You listen far more than you speak, and you have never - not once - talked too much. You make us talk. Think. Consider what we do. You don't lie. You don't play with the truth. You cherish knowledge, you share knowledge, and you want us to always make the best decisions we can. Even when we disagree with you, you still help us. Just like you helped me figure out what my vigil should be. So - thank you. For being willing to talk to me, no matter how dumb my questions are."

She took a sip of the tisane, but noticed he had added honey - a very, very rare and precious commodity in Halfmoon - to cut the bitterness.

"There are no dumb questions, your highness." His voice was a little hoarse, but Catra decided not to read too much into it.

Less than an hour later, she had her first visitor. The young woman pushed through the small crowd watching her, climbing the stairs with resolute steps, her mouth set into a thin, determined line. She didn't once look back over her shoulder.

She stared at Catra for a long moment, then sat down on the step just below her. Catra wasn't sure how long the girl sat there with her, but she knew it was more than a few minutes.

"I'm a baker. I'm a good baker. I work in a pastry shop, just there." She pointed. "With my uncle, Tathlan. I'm a few years older than you, from what the info net said about you. My parents died during the same uprising when you were taken, killed by traitors. Mother was a cook in the castle and my father was a baker like his brother. My uncle. I was right there, in front of our shop, in the middle of the riot when you fought the Baron and his people. You and the Queen and the General. Just before, they broke into our shop, and they wrecked everything. They'd spent weeks whispering to us all about how we'd all have more and get more without the Queen or you, and some of us believed them, because sometimes it's so hard, with the attacks and shortages and living down here. I grew up on stories of living above, of sunlight and trees and running in fields. Of having more than enough, because Halfmoon made things people wanted. But they didn't give us anything. They didn't help us. All they did was ruin our shop and hurt people. After, the Queen just - gave us money. Did you know? All the shops that were damaged. All the things they stole. She paid to fix them. Replace them. Made sure we had food. Shelter. Water."

The girl sighed and put her head in her hands; her tail lashed and her ears were back in shame. "They killed my parents and I was so busy thinking about what they could give me I didn't even think about them. I listened to violent, lying traitors because I wanted more. Wanted what I don't even remember. Then I find out you spent your life a prisoner of the Horde and you only got to come back because one of the traitors turned against their own and rescued you. But you were right here, fighting them. You spent your life away from us, but you fought for us. They killed people, that night. But you…" the girl sobbed softly. "You didn't! You didn't kill the Baron! You fought, you won, then you took care of everyone and I'm so stupid and I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Had she been a prisoner? In a lot of ways - yes. But she never would have left the Horde. Not for anything. Not as long as Adora was there, and maybe not even if Adora had left. She didn't trust herself outside of the Horde. She still didn't - but Shadow Weaver hadn't left her a choice.

She had to learn to live without the Horde - the structure she rebelled against but relied on to define her life. Without Adora, who had made her life worth something.

Catra reached out and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. Touch was hard for her - but it was important to her people. Her people were so tactile. It was hard for her, but she was learning. Slowly.

Lenio told her it might get worse before it got better. That it might never get better and she might never be like everyone else with touch, but she wanted to try. When she could.

"Hey. No. I know a thing about guilt, okay? You can't let it own you. You own it; it's just telling you what you already know. You made a mistake. I wasn't a prisoner - not the way you think. The Horde raised me. Taught me. Then got rid of me. It's what people who try to take power from everyone else do. They use people. Hurt people. You made a mistake in who you believed, but as long as you didn't hurt anyone, you're okay. As for taking care of you - that's what we're supposed to do. Literally our entire job." Catra took a deep breath. "And I didn't try to kill them, because that's what they would do. You can't take that back. Some of them did die at my hands. I know they did. They didn't give me a choice, but I have to live with that. They do it as easy as breathing, and so for me, it should be the hardest thing in the world."

She hadn't realized it until right then, but even though she had wanted to kill - the assassins. Kittrina. The guards who had tried to track her down. She hadn't because she had never been sure it was the right decision.

Despite her training, she knew death wasn't something to take lightly. She'd grown up with nightmares of Adora dying. Of what that would feel like. She didn't want to take anyone away from their people, not even the people who wanted to kill her.

Shadow Weaver had taught her to kill, to default to murder. To think of it as the fast, efficient solution. But every one of the assassins she had killed weighed on her. She didn't like it, but she could live with it, because she wasn't sure what else she could have - should have done. Because it wasn't her default - only a necessity she hated.

Somehow, Shadow Weaver had failed to make her a cold-blooded killer. Somehow, Catra had kept part of herself safe. It made her sick to know Shadow Weaver had been right about even one thing: sometimes, people didn't give you a choice. To protect yourself and those you fought for, sometimes, you had to kill. It was part of being a soldier.

She was going to examine every lesson Shadow Weaver had taught her very carefully before she applied any of it. Her lessons were too insidious, too subtle not to - because it was very easy (too easy) to find reasons to kill in the name of defense.

If there was one thing she knew: Shadow Weaver lied. Especially when she told the truth.

The girl stood, and then bowed, her fingertips just under her throat. "Thank you, your highness. I'm - I'm glad you won. You should come by the shop. We make amazing pastries. I promise!"

She ran down the stairs, hair and tail streaming behind her.

Cloudfoot laughed softly. "You did well, princess. Though, it does beg questions about how many people out there still support the Baron's group and might follow Akrash's parents, curse their dark souls, should they ever reappear."

Catra said nothing, but she'd already had those thoughts, and realized nothing they could do would reveal anything or fix anything. All they could do was try the best they could to show the people they were on their side. Which would be harder than she realized.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, sipping tisane with Cloudfoot. He refilled her cup from his insulated bottle a couple of times, always adding the precious sweetness of honey.

"Brace yourself. Minister Imoh is going to avail himself of the opportunity to berate you while you cannot easily answer him. He forgets, I think, I am under no such restriction."

Catra knew she made a face, but said nothing. When she'd planned her vigil with Cloudfoot, she'd known there was the chance people would get to tell her things she didn't want to hear and would have opinions she didn't want.

She'd even figured on Imoh taking a swing at lecturing her while she forced to be silent.

She'd known some of the Councilors would take the opportunity to be seen with her, but the idea any of them would try to publicly berate her or come after her mother through her had been dismissed as too politically stupid to be a factor.

She hoped Akrash and Cloudfoot were right.

Melog whispered in her mind; warning her. They had felt Imoh's intentions. Akrash and Cloudfoot had not been right.

Imoh was approaching with determination and intended to be heard. By the rules of her vigil, published for all of Halmoon to know, she had to sit and deal with it - unless he took too long. (Catra had not been told what constituted 'too long.') One of the guards would politely ask whoever it was to make room for the next person.

And Imoh was coming early, before many people were gathered or watching her. Smarter, anyway. Their conversation would still be recorded, but how many people would watch the entire vigil?

She heard his footsteps on the stone behind her and heard his disdainful scoff. Heard him shift - she was sure he was posing for the cameras. "Cloudfoot. You are part of this…travesty?"

Cloudfoot stood. "Travesty! Such a mighty word, Imoh! Theatric. Dramatic. Literary! What travesty do you speak of? The travesty of my uncomfortable chair? The travesty of no audience for your posturing? Pray tell, good man! What mean you, on this most auspicious morning? Speak plainly! Halfmoon listens!"

Without Melog's help, Catra would have snickered at Cloudfoot's open mockery.

"The travesty of this mockery of a Coronation vigil! We have traditions, ritual being cast aside for some juvenile attempt at escaping the solitude of contemplation?"

Catra clenched her jaw.

Cloudfoot laughed softly. "Oh, Minister. And you call yourself a historian? You would doubt my dedication to the traditions of our people? Far in the past - further back, I think, than you have studied - our leaders were tested such. They would sit in the middle of their settlement, and they would speak to each person who approached. Answer questions. Advise. Hear their people out. But why would you concern yourself with that? Of course, at one time, all Coronation vigils took place at the palace gates, with a shorter vigil before the RuneStone in the days after, accompanied by the monarch or the Royal Sorcerer. Sometimes a priest, during times when the faiths had more influence than they do now. Such tradition we eschew! Hiding our Princess in a cave where she cannot meet her people is foolish when our people do not yet know her. She offers herself to them, to be known. It seems quite traditional and honorable to me. Quite traditional."

Imoh sniffed. "The Coronation vigil was established to ensure the monarch was both connected to the RuneStone and had the solitude to contemplate the life of service and leadership they enter into. This is no such thing. It is a public spectacle to protect an unprepared princess from the solemn duty she is swearing herself to! It avoids contemplation. Self-reflection. The symbolism of a ruler standing alone is completely ignored."

Cloudfoot laughed softly. "Enjoy your indignation, Minister. I certainly do. Contemplation and understanding do not come by a singular path, and what you do not understand about the RuneStone could fill a library. Wise rulers never stand alone, and a wise and educated people are more than able to learn for themselves what kind of ruler our princess will be."

"Phagh!" Imoh paced behind her. "Tell me, Minister of State. Can the Princess stand? I would rather address her face to face, as she requested. I do not relish standing over her. It is unbecoming. It is rude. And I am too old to sit on the ground."

Catra's fingers tightened around her staff. While beating him senseless would count as an answer, it wasn't the one she needed to give today. (She had also promised her mother not to be the one who hit first.)

Catra stood.

Imoh walked over to her, but Catra didn't turn to face him. Her fur crawled under her armor as he stood behind her, but she felt Melog - still invisible - moving to protect her. She stared out at the city and didn't move.

Imoh walked up next to her. "Turn and face me, Princess."

Catra bristled at the order. The imperious tone. She didn't so much as twitch. She suspected he had someone there to record or take pictures of them standing face to face for him to use somehow, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going to follow any order he tried to give.

"So, you are a coward as well as selfish. How droll. Disappointing. You are here to take your place as Crown Princess of Halfmoon and you ignored tradition. You dress like a warrior, not a noble. You conduct yourself like a thug, not a ruler. And you refuse to give your people the security of an unbroken line. We know the magic of bonding to the RuneStone is passed down from mother to daughter, but you refuse. We could easily find a dozen suitable men to marry you when you are of age, appropriate to your station and well-trained to rule, and you could provide Halfmoon a legitimate heir, raised in our traditions, our ways. You refuse this duty to your people. Petulant and self-indulgent, not wise or willing to serve your people."

Catra's eyes narrowed and her muscles tensed. But she said nothing. The insinuation she needed a 'proper' noble to rule instead of her galled her. Her ears were back and her tail was around her wrist to keep it from lashing.

"We were once a proud people! A noble civilization, but instead of fighting the Horde, we hid down here, in the damp and in the dark. And down here, we are losing all that we were. Year by year, fewer respect the old ways. Year by year, we lose more of what we were. You - you could fix that. You could accept your place in our society. You could let us guide you! Those of us who remember, who know what we once were could show you what your people need from you. A spouse to advise you, guide you - a father for your children. You could put down your weapons, be a Princess. Your life would be filled with comfort. With service to your people. It would be easy, Princess! We could choose the right man, ensure consanguinity, ensure the survival of our people as a people. Ensure the continuity of our culture, or traditions, our history! Renew the ways of our golden age!"

He reached out to touch Catra's shoulder.

Melog's warning flashed in her mind, and Catra stepped away, fighting her instinct to lash out at him. To strike at him and keep him from touching her. Her claws were out, always sharp. Always ready.

He stepped closer, coming around to face her, his hands coming for her shoulders and Catra stepped away again, feeling her heart race, her breathing speed up - as if she were being attacked. Her muscles trembled as she fought down the instinct to keep him from trying again.

Melog wanted to appear, stand between them, but Catra held him back. She fought her own mind - reminding herself this was about what she showed to everyone else, not to Imoh.

"Your mother, at least, married and had you!" Imoh stood in front of her, far closer than he had a right to. "Even if she married a commoner! It is your duty to your people to marry right, to bear a daughter who can carry on the line! You claim to be our princess, to serve your people, but you ignore this? Because you don't want to? It's not about you, Princess! It's about your duty! Answer me! I demand an answer, Princess! Why do you fail in your duty?"

This time, when he grabbed for her shoulders, Catra reacted before she could think - she stepped back, her staff coming up under his chin, pressing lightly against his throat, holding him back. She stared at him hard. Her mismatched eyes didn't blink as she held his gaze - the threat there was unmistakable. If he tried to touch her again, she would stop him.

Cloudfoot spoke. "Minister Imoh. I think you are done. The Princess has not given you leave to be so - familiar."

Imoh stumbled back, almost tripping down the steps. He caught himself and glared, but saw two guards had stepped up behind Cloudfoot.

Imoh's eyes were wide as he stared at Catra's staff - and seemed to realize he had overstepped. That he was in danger. "Yes, well, my apologies for my familiarity. I am still within my rights to expect an answer."

Cloudfoot sighed. "I do believe the Princess has given her answer already, when you spoke out of turn in the Council meeting. Why should she have to repeat herself?"

Catra stepped back from Imoh, spinning her staff up behind her. She glared at him. She forced herself to get her breathing under control. She had an answer for him. She hoped his people were filming it.

She gave him a different answer. She wasn't going to spend more time engaging him with him than she had to.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

Catra sat, settled her staff across her knees, facing out into the city. There was a lot more she wanted to say, but none of it mattered to Imoh and she knew it. She could snarl at him. Threaten him. Tell him she wasn't his puppet. He didn't get to control her life. Her body. Didn't get to choose someone to rule through her.

It would fall on deaf ears.

She had to hope the rest of Halfmoon was more like Kesi and less like Imoh.

Imoh stood and stared at her. She didn't know how long, but finally, he turned and stalked off, his fists clenched at his sides.

Cloudfoot dismissed the guards and sat. "I cannot imagine how hard that was for you. I cannot imagine how you are feeling right now. To be reduced so. To be treated so, spoken to so. I do not have the words to apologize, Princess. But I am sorry. And I thank you for not lashing out at him. Your restraint was both admirable and appreciated." He sighed. "If you need to speak, Catra, please. The silence is a test, not a torture."

Catra looked over at her shoulder to Cloudfoot.

"If he tries to touch me again, I might not have restraint. He'll bleed and he'll scar. It'll be permanent. He got today because of what it is. That's it. I can't promise next time won't be a disaster."

There were only so many times she could hold back her instincts; Imoh was a threat, and if he kept trying to touch her, eventually - she'd react without thought.

Cloudfoot nodded. "No one could blame you. He…was once my friend, you know? Many years ago. We studied together, and once he was not as he is now. Or, maybe I did not see who he was? I thought better of him, back then."

Catra felt for Cloudfoot, seeing what his friend had become. She wondered how she would feel if she ever met Adora as a loyal Horde soldier, wanting her dead because of who she had chosen to become?

"It's not your fault, Cloudfoot," Catra smiled as she turned back to the city. "But I think I will start making it very clear where I stand on certain things. I guess, I'm sorry in advance for the headaches."

Cloudfoot sighed. "I will regret this, I think, but when your vigil is done, I hope you will share what you meant by that with me."

Catra nodded. She'd tell him, but he'd probably see before he had a chance to ask. As soon as she could, she would talk with Kesi. She would show Imoh - and everyone else - that as a Princess, she believed people should be who they are.

No matter what the 'rules' said. Or tradition.

Kesi would still wear the sash and cuffs, but otherwise she could dress as she wanted. Catra would also encourage her to hire or transfer staff who thought the same as Kesi did. If she had to have staff? She would make sure it pissed Imoh and Haverisk and all the others off as much as they pissed her off.

If they wanted a culture war, she'd give them one.

She didn't want to use people. She'd make sure they knew why she was doing it. That they had a choice to be a part of it, or not. No one would go in blind.

"On second thought, I give you permission to speak freely with me. To sit in silence is not my way, and I think I will learn more by listening than I will by watching. Tell me what you plan, Catra. Warn me!"

Catra smiled slowly, her tail whipping across the stone. "Cultural warfare. I get to choose the uniform for my staff. So, I will ask them to dress in ways that reflect themselves. Their culture. To - express themselves. Kesi will help them, I'm sure. Not just cave culture. Those who cling to old formalities. Those who want the status quo. Everyone on my staff will get to present themselves as they see themselves. No matter what tradition or propriety or decorum or any of the rest have to say about it."

Cloudfoot sat with that thought for a moment. "Oh. Oh, dear. Yes, that will give my poor Percy a case of the vapors, now won't it? But there is also some wisdom to it. Imoh can choose to either ignore it or to challenge it. Ignoring it would weaken him with his allies and challenging it turns his pursuit of your marriage prospects from a directed quest to a far wider war on modern magicat culture - and a war against you and how you do things. It will dilute everything he does, while building your own support base. The cave-culture is popular, multi-generational, and because they are quite civic and service minded, most objections to them comes from scandalized reactions to their appearances. Hrm. Tell me - do you plan to embrace their culture and adopt their fashions?"

Catra made a face and shook her head. "Not so much. Maybe - sometimes. For effect. But I'm most comfortable in armor, with weapons. I'm a warrior princess, and I want people to see that. I don't know enough about cave-culture to claim it as my own, but if I like what I learn and I like what I see, I'll offer respect and go along with things if I'm comfortable."

Cloudfoot laughed. "You, my dear Catra, are an absolute delight. You will show respect for all of our cultures by allowing your staff to reflect who they are. You will be who you are in turn, and you will grant everyone the same dignity. Be careful of one thing - you will be seen and known by our people, and you may start your own culture."

Catra sniffed disdainfully. "Yeah. No. We both know that won't happen. Most of what I am comes from the Horde and no one will want to replicate that. At least, not those with any sense. But if me being a warrior makes others want to stand up and fight for Halfmoon, then that's not a bad thing, right?"

"No. No, it is not. I wish we did not have to fight. I wish we could live in both worlds again. I wish our people could grow and evolve and we could be a part of Etheria. I also know that I do not know how any of that is possible, as long as we are war with the Horde. They task us and they test us and they trap us, and we cannot escape them yet. I believe, deep in my old bones, someday we will be a free people. That Halfmoon will stand, now and forever. But the road will be long, and I may not live long enough to see the freedom I know will some day come. If you, my lady, inspire others to stand and fight and bring about that future even a few days closer, then I welcome their service to our people. We need warriors, though my heart weeps for the need."

Catra smiled, staring out at the bustling city. Cloudfoot was wiser than people knew, sometimes. Smarter than even she knew.

"Some of that may happen sooner than anyone thinks."

The old man laughed softly. "So I am beginning to suspect. You have my help, Catra. All the knowledge and skills at my disposal are yours and your mother's to use as you need. All I am is for my people and to protect and produce a future where our people can choose so much more than they do now."

Catra settled a bit. "Thank you. Because once I'm all official, I've got a lot to start getting done. It's time Etheria remembered Halfmoon and for the Horde to discover we are nation with teeth and claws."

Chapter Text

The Plaza

Halfmoon Castle

Halfmoon

Subtheria

Three months after Catra's abduction

Midday came and went, and Catra ached. Her legs were stiff and her fur itched under her armor. Her eyes stung and parts of her were going numb. She felt Melog's desire for a nap, and it fed her desire to curl up and sleep for a few precious minutes.

Or get up and move around. Either would work. Either would feel like heaven.

But she didn't. Instead, she watched Halfmoon. She watched people shopping and gossiping. She watched people running about, doing things she couldn't even fathom. She had never gone shopping. She had never gone about her day without a schedule or a list of things she had to learn, practice, or try to figure out.

Were the people of Halfmoon like that? Were they like her, or was her experience so foreign to them they couldn't see or understand her world any more than she did theirs?

She hadn't met enough of them to know. She'd met more than a few already, though.

She'd been surprised at the number of people who had come to visit her. Some spoke to her. Some asked her questions. (Most of which, she didn't have an answer for, and said as much.) Some needed reassurance. Some just wanted to meet and sit with the Princess. Some came up to take photos with her.

She might have been worried about people approaching her, but she was armored and armed, and so far, one on one, the only people she was afraid of being able to fight her long enough she couldn't get help were on her side.

And besides. She had Melog. They were more than enough extra protection.

She also knew someone was watching her. Even if they weren't sitting with her, there was always something watching her. From the Royal Council, the royal court, or one of her mother's advisers. So she was being as careful as she could to follow the rules.

Catra's eyes went wide as she saw Kesi walking up the steps to the castle. No longer clad in her uniform, but the outfit Catra had first seen her in - only in black and maroon instead of blue and silver.

But she still wore the indorium torc around her neck and the copper sash around her waist.

She walked slowly up the stairs, her white and gray hair - as subtly striped as the rest of her- blew out behind her in the soft whispered breeze that never stopped drifting through the great cavern of Halfmoon.

She sat down cross-legged in front of Catra and shrugged. "I didn't plan on this, you know. Any of it, really, but coming to talk to you during your vigil most of all. I had planned on building your staff. Which, no lie. I was going to go to my friends and people I trust and kinda inform them they were in a different department now. Percival told me I could have whoever I wanted, unless they were on someone else's personal staff. But I said a lot of things this morning, and I'm not sure I said most of it right. I'm not always good at saying things right the first time."

Catra smiled, tilting her head. Her tail flicked and her ears went up. She was listening - and she understood. She understood not saying things the first time. Not a luxury Catra had during her vigil. She only had one chance to respond to Kesi, and she wanted to make it count.

Kesi settled herself, her tail wrapping around her wrist. Her voice was a soft whisper "We have a few minutes before the others arrive, and I'm going to make the best use of it I can. Because I want you to understand, and I don't think you really do. It's important to me - to us - that you do. You are important, Catra. You matter. In ways I think you don't let yourself imagine. Which, I kinda know what's that like. Discovering you're something you never thought you would be."

She steeled herself, sitting tall. "The cave culture…we're new. Ish. There's been glimmerings of us since we went underground. But in the last ten years, we've become something. Those of us born and raised down here, who like being down here, have shaped a new culture. We don't miss what's up there, because we never knew it. Others, who remember - they have come to love and feel safe down here. To love what we have become. What we have here is important to us. Our look, how we interact with the world - it's all built on what we have here, and we don't want to lose that."

Catra had a sinking feeling, because a lot of her plans were about connecting Halfmoon to the rest of Etheria. None of her plans meant Halfmoon had to move back up to the surface, but eventually, there would need to be a presence on the surface - somewhere.

"But Halfmoon can't live in isolation, and none of us want to live in isolation. We want the rest of the world know about us. Cave culture is about community. About connection. Sharing with each other, being aware of and supporting each other and that has to be reflected in how Halfmoon interacts with the world. Isolation would kill us as a people as surely as the Horde or the goblins."

Catra's tension evaporated. She wasn't going to be at odds with the woman helping run her life. She leaned forward, making sure Kesi knew she was listening. Interested. Because she was - especially with what she had decided after Imoh's impromptu assault on her.

No matter what her answer to Kesi, she had to make sure to tell Kesi that. The more Kesi talked, the more important it felt.

"We dress for the caves. We show who we are not just with what we do, but how we present ourselves. We want to touch the primal part of our culture and the refined part of our culture. We want to show all of magicat history and all of our potential. Me getting hired on at castle made me the most visible, most highly placed cave girl in the city. I had the ear of Percival, who let me bring in some of the foods we've created. Some of the fashions - well, to an extent. Some of the ideas of adapting and doing things that reflect where we are and what we are. I gained a voice in the movement, and while no one 'leads,' people started listening to me. It helps that I'm aeonic - a term cave culture stole from Etheria - because I have experiences that let me speak to what a lot of us have lived. Cave culture is about bringing magicats closer to each other, in tune with the world we're in, and about reaching out to others."

Kesi spread her hands wide. "We have so much down here. We're - really aware of that, you know? There are also things we need, and we know that, too. There are people who want Halfmoon to just - leave behind Subtheria and go back to the surface. There are those who want to hunker down and hide here, and never connect with the world above again. We didn't know how to get people to listen to the idea there is a middle way where we keep what we have gained and find what we lost. Until you. You came from the Horde. I don't want to put words in your mouth, but I can't imagine it was easy."

Catra almost laughed. No - growing up in the Horde hadn't been easy, but she'd had Adora, who had shielded her from more than she'd understood. Who'd stood by her and helped her every step of the way, even when Catra hadn't thought she needed help. She'd been tortured, mutilated, changed.

"You came here from there. And like I said - you stood for us, after we didn't welcome you right. We weren't there for you, but you were there for us. You fought for us. You let us fight for ourselves, and now instead of sitting vigil in the Lost Temple, you're inviting us all to come talk to you. You have cave girl piercings. And you dress yourself a bit like cave culture - you use your clothes not just to show who you are but to enhance and develop who you are, ignoring the rules of fashion or culture other people tell you to follow. You represent what cave culture wants to be - someone who can and has reinvented and re-created themselves because they wanted to. You could have let Percival or Cloudfoot or others guide you more. Shape you as a princess more. You didn't. You fought us to be recognized and now you are sitting here recognizing all of us. We - at least cave culture - see you. We trust you. We - I - am glad you're our princess. We love your mother, we do, but she doesn't see us, and I think you see us."

Catra wasn't sure she would go that far. She knew of the cave culture, but she didn't see them - 0r any of the faction in Halfmoon. Not yet. She would, though. She would always try to see the people she was supposed to lead - even those who disagreed with her.

"Cave culture is also about service. Not things like military service, though a lot of us are in the guard or the army. It's about serving our community. Our people. It's why I applied for the castle. Why my friends work as teachers, doctors, farmers. Each of us wants to contribute to Halfmoon the best way we can. Sometimes, that means giving up something of ourselves. In my case, the clothes I wear, the clothes I create, have to work for the people who will wear them - which means more coverage, less style. Less individualism. You gave up something of yourself for me today, to let me have the moment of dressing a princess for her coronation, and that means everything to me - and to us. We know a cave girl dressed a princess in her armor to meet her people before publicly accepting her rank and title. And that - that's something only you could give us. Something you were willing to give me - to give us. So…again, thank you. You matter, Catra. You are seen. You are wanted in Halfmoon. Because of who you are and what you have already done, you are our princess. We trust you. We are proud to claim you, if you'll let us. And we are glad you are here."

Okay, that's not fair. No fair making me cry when I can barely answer! Catra smiled, blinking around the tears. She hadn't realized how much she needed to hear someone say that to her until Kesi said it. How much she needed to know it wasn't just her mother and Cloudfoot and Askar who wanted her to be Princess - that at least some of the people did, too.

Catra looked up and saw a group walking up behind Kesi. They were a colorful bunch, but each of them had their individual style. Some dressed like Kesi - three of the men had been straight up shirtless. Others were clad in elaborate costumes (one of which lit up!)

"They're here to bring you lunch. I know you're not supposed to eat, but you also can't refuse gifts, right? So! We are gifting you food. I know food's hard for you and I had a lot of control over the menu. You don't have to eat, but I think you should. You're my princess, and I'm going to take care of you, no matter what a bunch of traditionalist rules say about it."

Catra smirked. Cloudfoot was going to be amused at the workaround. He might also be annoyed, but Catra might not find eating easy, she was also a soldier who knew better than to refuse food in the middle of a long shift. She could find something to nibble on that wouldn't mess with her system or make her look like an idiot when she fumbled to eat.

Melog murmured approval in her thoughts, brushing his mind against hers, encouraging her to trust Kesi and eat. Her health was more important than rules.

Catra hadn't answered Kesi yet, and she knew it wasn't time to.

Instead, she watched as a whole crowd of Kesi's cave culture friend had a picnic on the castle steps. They were a colorful bunch, loud and raucous one minute and quiet and contemplative the next. Conversation flowed from politics to history to music to food.

Catra listened.

They had a lot to say to her - and about her. They complimented her piercings, her armor. Her fight against the Baron. They'd told her about helping fight the traitors in the streets of Halfmoon. Their fears. Their pride in defending their home.

They had obviously cooked with the intention of sharing with her. She ate small bits of several things, but was very careful. She couldn't afford to upset her stomach during her vigil. There were a lot of different kinds of fish - smoked and baked and fried. There were small sandwiches made with flavored pastes from ground plants. There were fruits and vegetables she'd never tried, including a small, yellow pepper she was going to find out the name of and have more of. A lot more of.

They had also brought a small sampling of the cheeses Halfmoon traded with other Subtherian nations. Catra knew that was Kesi's doing - only she would have known Catra could not only eat cheese, but loved it.

And a small package of the apple cinnamon candies she loved so much. Kesi had been prepared. It boded well for her being Catra's Seneschal.

Then, to her shock, several of them had taken out some of their own piercings and asked if Catra would let them trade out hers for theirs. It was apparently a part of their sub-culture - to give someone important to them earrings or other body jewelry.

Catra knew when her vigil was over, when the reception was over, she was going to want to crawl under her bed and hide. She wasn't used to so much physical contact and it was wearing on her. On her instincts.

But this was important - and a step in the culture war was she was going to wage. So with Melog's help and support, Catra sat perfectly still while Kesi's friends took out her piercings one by one, replacing them with their own.

When they ran out of room, they chained the jewelry together with care. Catra then held out her hands - filled with the indorium loops she had been wearing - to them. She smiled at them as she saw their eyes light up.

She saw tears in several eyes as they carefully took them from her hands.

She made a mental note to make sure Kesi went through her jewelry and gave the ones who hadn't gotten a trade from her something. (And to pick up a notebook and pen somewhere. She was going to have to give in and start writing things down like Adora had.)

Finally, she turned to Kesi, looking right at her Seneschal. The others paused and fell silent. Catra chose her words carefully.

"Kesi. I told you this morning I wouldn't want to pick anyone else as my Seneschal, and I meant it, and not just because I don't know - or trust - many people. You're the only one for the job. You are not just my steward. You are also becoming my friend. If you weren't, I never would have let you help me this morning. Everything you said about cave culture - you showed that to me that day in Percival's workroom. You listened. You put your whole self into helping me be me instead of trying to fit me around what was expected. I needed that. More than I needed help picking a wardrobe or furniture or any of the rest of it, I needed to be seen and heard. You still use my name - which matters a great deal to me. When I let you help me this morning, it wasn't about culture or tradition. It was about my friend asking me for something that meant more to them than it did to me. You told me I'm your princess. Well, you - all of you - are my people. You see me, and not the girl the Horde got rid of for being too defiant, too loud, too much. I could tell you that together we're going to change Halfmoon, but the truth is, you don't need me to change Halfmoon. You're doing that on your own. I'm going to change Halfmoon, too. I'm going to reach out to the rest of the world, but I don't want to take away what we have here, because this is what Halfmoon has become, and I don't think that just because we lost things along the way that what we have now is bad or wrong. We aren't refugees down here. We're a people, a culture with a long history and Etheria will eventually see that."

Catra shrugged, and then grinned. "Some of the changes I'm going to make are closer to home, though. A bit of an assault on the conformity culture - and one that will draw attention to you if you go along with it. Uniforms, for example. I grew up in a uniform and while part of me likes the simplicity of it, my staff aren't soldiers. You're people. So, starting right after I'm crowned, your uniform is whatever you want to wear. Make sure to wear the torc and sash and cuffs. Same rules for everyone working for me. Be who you are and show Halfmoon who you are. If I have to have a staff of people doing things for me, they get to be themselves, and not nameless or faceless in the background. They get to be seen and known and recognized - because if there's one thing I know and want to avoid, it's not being seen or recognized. You deserve to be who you are. All of you."

Adora had always seen her. Recognized her. She wouldn't ever forget that - or how little she appreciated it at the time. Adora deserved better. Her people deserved better. And Imoh deserved to rage against it.

Kesi looked up at Catra, holding her tail. "Thank you. Thank you! You don't know what this means to me - to us! Catra…I know…but…can…can I hug you? Just once?"

Catra leaned her thoughts back into Melog's presence in her mind, letting them envelope her in warmth and support. Then she nodded.

Kesi leaned forward and carefully, gently, hugged her. Catra hugged her back and whispered in her ear. "I see you too, Kesi. I'm proud to have you with me, and I'm proud to have the support of your people. I can't say a lot more and not get caught, but - yeah. Okay."

Kesi nodded and pulled back. Both of them were crying a little.

Her friends helped her up, all of them hugging her as they gathered up their picnic, making sure to clean thoroughly. One of them even used their own small magic to clean up crumbs and dust and fur, leaving the steps cleaner than they were when they'd arrived.

Catra gave them a smile and nod, acknowledging their effort - and making a mental note to see if there were spells she could learn to replicate that. (Melog mentally poked her about starting her own to do list. Like Adora.)

She had just gotten her heart rate under control after Kesi's group when Catra head footsteps coming up behind her.

She wasn't surprised someone else from her mother's court was coming. Either to sit with her and observe or talk to her.

Kittrina sat down just behind her and to the side. The other Princess had her knees drawn up, resting her chin on them. Melog gave her a clear mental picture of her.

"Guess I should enjoy sitting like a person while I can. In a few weeks, I'll be as big as a damn house. Just one kitten. Lenio was sure, but Aster was hoping for at least two. That was well done, with the cave kids. I should stop calling them that. They're not kids, are they? I've heard you're not good with people touching you, but people will see the support you gave her. You're better at this than I thought you'd be, which is both awesome and annoying. Anyway, I waited until they were done. Don't worry, I won't rat you out for eating. I get why you did."

Catra didn't respond. She wasn't sure the comment was bait, but it felt like bait.

Kittrina shifted. "So. Yeah, I'm your watcher for now. Grandfather's up next. I almost didn't come out here. Not really sure why I did, to be honest with you. Kinda because it's rude to watch you and not let you know it's me. Kinda because I feel left out. Kinda because I'm really bored watching you. And probably hormones. Pregnancy hormones make you do the weirdest shit. Impulse control - gone. Diet - ruined. Sleep schedule - a myth. So we'll blame the kitten. Their fault. You good with that? Awesome. I appreciate the support."

The auburn furred girl waved at her; Catra saw the shadow of her arm move. "Yeah, yeah. I know. You can't answer. That would kill me, not being able to talk back, but I'm not the Crown Princess. Which…"

Kittrina sighed. "I'm sorry. We started off bad, you know? I tried to kick your ass and you ended up kicking mine. I'm not a fan. Not many people can kick my ass. I hate that you can and I respect that you can. You were half-gone when you took me apart, which means you at your best would probably be a nightmare. Which makes me want to fight you again. Weird, right? Still. Bad form on my part. Not even talking. Asking. Thinking. They just said 'girl from the Horde, on the loose in the castle!' Our training for that is 'stop them!' and you were right outside the Grand Hall. Not where we want a person from the Horde to be, if they were actually breaking into the castle. I wasn't told you were someone just rescued from the Fright Zone, okay? Much less you escaped from the infirmary. I never mean to…"

She flopped back, laying out with her hands stretched over her head. "Augh! I am so bad at this. Akrash told me to wait and do this when you could talk back, but no. I had to come out here and ramble at you. Just like my jumping in at court to announce I wanted to be Princess, instead of thinking it through and realizing trying to be the Princess instead of a princess was a bad plan and would be seen by all as a bad idea. Her majesty just got her daughter back, and there's me saying I want to take your place. Real smooth, right? Right. Damn it! I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have attacked you. I shouldn't have told Aster to attack you. I shouldn't have done what I did when I found out I was pregnant! I wasn't supposed to get pregnant on Etheria. We were going to wait until I went back home! Which, I haven't, because I don't want to. Aster wasn't there, I got scared, and I am really bad at being scared when I can't hit what's scaring me! I can't go back home until my kid's like - four or five, and it's not like I even like being on Eternia most of the time. Aster is so much better at dealing with them than I am! Mostly, because he's a boy. Also, he's better at people than I am. I case you haven't noticed, I talk too much. I'm good at politics, because there talking too much works, at least when I'm not going in scared stupid and accidentally trying to usurp people."

Kittrina sat back up. "I think I'm trying to say I don't want us to be enemies. Akrash has told me a bit about you, and I don't think I can hate you enough to be your enemy. We're in this fight with Imoh together, and we're kinda family? If you even get what that means? That probably wasn't the right thing to say, was it?"

Catra smiled to herself. Don't worry, Kittrina. I'm going to make Imoh so mad at me he won't see you coming.

She groaned. "Look. I didn't handle anything right. From the day we met to court to - anything. I'm about to be a mother, and I have no idea what I'm doing. My own mother isn't anything like Lyra. She's like - the anti-Lyra. I can't raise my kid like she raised me. I don't even know that I'd feel safe taking my kid back to Qadia. Aster's not anything like my father, thank the fires below. He's good people. Gentle. Awkward, sometimes, but sweet. To me, anyway. I hate the idea I've messed up with you so badly there's no fixing it. No bridging the gap I created. I want family, Princess. I really do. I want my kitten to have family. I want to have a home where I feel safe. And can be a person. I want - to not spend my entire life fighting everyone, and I started two big fights with you. And you're going to be a part of my life, a part of their life - and you have a lot of reasons to hate me and not trust me, and I wish I hadn't done what I did. But I did do what I did, and now I have to live with it, and maybe someday - fix it. So…can we not be enemies, at least?"

Catra could empathize with having a mother figure that was nothing like Lyra. She still had scars from Shadow Weaver. She could understanding making mistakes and going about things wrong. She could understand wanting Halfmoon to be her home. To feel safe in her home. To not have to fight all the time.

But Kittrina's first act had been to ambush her with her husband and try to take her out. To announce herself as a princess and try to hurt her. That was going to take time to overcome. Catra didn't want to lie to Kittrina about where they stood, but she didn't want her as an enemy, either. She had enough of those.

Catra sighed. "Yeah, no. We're not enemies, Kittrina. We're not friends, though. You came at me hard and Aster tried to burn me down. I get you thought I was a threat, but really? I'm not over it yet. Might take time. I can promise you I won't hold it against your kid, though. I'd never do that. Blaming the kid for the parent is just - wrong. I can also promise you I have no idea what to do with kids, because I haven't interacted with one since I was one. You aren't my enemy. You aren't my friend. You are my family, and you're right. I don't have a clue what that means yet. Rivals, maybe, since you want my job. If you really want to talk to me, I'm not hard to find most of the time."

"Yeah. Fair. Rivals. Because you're kind of right. I thought I wanted your job, because I wanted my kid to be in the succession. I don't really want to be Queen. I want to be part of Halfmoon. I've spent almost as much time here as I have back home, and I like it better. I want it to be my home."

Catra almost smiled. She wanted Halfmoon to be her home, too. She understood coming from a place she hated to a place she loved. Even if she was fairly certain Eternia was better than the Fright Zone.

She also understood fighting for power and position and prestige. The Horde had taught her you had to claw and fight for everything you wanted. You sometimes had to climb over the others who wanted the same thing you did. It’s what people did. She understood that. She understood the kind of rivalry born between people who wanted the same thing only one of them could have.

It was easy not to hate Kittrina because Catra had won, and there was no way Kittrina could have. Without that, Catra wasn’t sure she could ever get over it enough to stop thinking the other girl had tried to take her mother away from her.

"But I'm too much me to not try to prove I was right I could do the job. That I would be a good Princess for Halfmoon. And I'm going to spend a lot of time proving to you and everyone who saw me stand up and say I wanted the job that I could do it - and do it well. So thanks, for not being an enemy. And for letting me borrow Akrash. He's useful, when he's not being an ass. I have an appointment with Lenio, so you're free of me for now."

Kittrina stood up, dusting herself off. "Good luck with this. Grandfather's coming out soon. He's got people with him and probably has a plan."

As Kittrina left, Catra let out a breath. Tried to ignore the growing ache in her legs. She needed just a few minutes! Just a few. To stand. To stretch.

But she knew there would be days as Princess she wouldn't have a few minutes, but at least then she'd be allowed move and speak. What had she been thinking? (The not allowed to move much or speak much hadn't been her idea - it had been Cloudfoot and Lyra who had insisted on that.)

Askar came out not too long after Kittrina left and sat down next to her. With grace and flexibility belying his age, he sat cross legged next to her, ignoring propriety by not sitting behind her or facing her.

"I got not words of wisdom for you, princess. You already know what I could tell you. Sometimes, you have to fight and it's a soldiers job to be ready for the fight when it comes. How and why you fight matters as much as choosing to fight. You know that. You're ready for the fight, and you fight with everything you have when you do - as you should. Everything else I can teach you will be in the salle."

Catra didn't move. She knew better - he would eventually give her something she had to respond to.

"There's quite a few of the castle guards coming. I made them wait until I was out here. I didn't want anyone to misunderstand what's happening. You have permission to do as they ask, if you want. No requirement, though. Not from me. You owe them nothing, and this is about pride. Already told your mother and Cloudfoot about it. They know what's coming. They don't like it, but they'll allow it. For political reasons, mostly. Seeing you handle this will matter. They don't understand warriors or soldiers. They try. They trust me to tell them what they need to know."

That didn't bode well. She wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but she scoffed quietly at the political aspect. She knew he was probably as exasperated by that as she was and wouldn't rat her out. At least, she hoped not. She also knew she trusted her mother to use things in a better way than Shadow Weaver would have.

It was a low bar to clear, but an important one.

She also knew she was going to have to get less annoyed about politics in a real hurry. Being a princess and dealing with politics went hand in hand.

Askar pointed down the stairs at a small group gathering in front of the steps. "Stand up, Catra. They're soldiers. You'll meet them on your feet." He leaned closer to her. "Take a minute. Stretch out some. Be subtle, but be limber. You're about to have to fight."

Catra rolled her eyes. Of course she was. Of course, at least one of the soldiers of Halfmoon would want to try their skills against her.

Catra stood, careful not to show any hesitation in her movements. Careful to be as smooth as she could. She bounced slightly on her toes, stretching her calves and ankles. She gently rolled her hips - tiny motions. Same with her shoulders.

She nodded at Askar. She was as ready as she could be.

Askar gestured the first one forward. The guardsman stomped up the stairs, holding a helmet in his hand. He dropped it at her feet; it hit the stone with a clattering clang, vibrating as it eventually settled.

"You're supposed to be this great fighter. You took on the Baron. His coterie. But you took me from behind like a coward, dropping me in a dark hallway without a real fight. So, 'princess' - prove to me you're some kind of warrior."

Catra kicked the helmet up and caught it. She saw where her claws had dug into it. She saw the dent on the back of it where she'd dropped him to the floor. The first guard she'd encountered after escaping the infirmary.

She looked at Askar and pointed at the solider. She held up a hand, fingers splayed - her signal for 'I need to really talk to him.' She hadn't actually expected to have to use it, but - she did.

Askar frowned and shook his head.

Her ears went back and down and her tail dropped. She sighed and she rubbed the bridge of her nose. She wasn't going to apologize to him. Not for defending herself.

"Yeah, no. I did. I took you down hard, from behind, in the dark. It wasn't a fight. I didn't want it to be." She sighed and handed him back his helmet. "Nothing I say can make it better. Nothing. You want to have another go at me? Fine. Sure. Let's do it. But I had never been that scared in my life. Didn't know where I was. What was happening. Where I was."

Where Adora was.

Thinking back to those first hours stalking through the castle could almost reduce her to bloody-minded despair.

"And you? You told people to stay away. I was dangerous. I was from the Horde. I'd been tortured. Kidnapped. I panicked and ran from the infirmary. But I was from the Horde." She blinked at him and when he didn't take the helmet back, she dropped it at his feet. "There are people in the Horde, too. We're all just people. The war only belongs to a few. The rest of us just bleed and die for it."

For a second time, the helmet rattled to a stop on the stone. She looked past his shoulder, and this time, her tail thrashed twice. A warning. She saw even more people had gathered and were watching, but she didn't have another answer. Not right then.

Catra tossed her staff to Askar and shook herself out. She'd fought him unarmed the first time. She'd give him the courtesy of that, at least. But she wasn't taking off her armor for him.

She shifted her weight slightly, stepping in to the walking stance she'd been taught as a child barely able to toddle about on two legs instead of four. She was loose and ready.

Right then. Ready when you are.

He growled low in his throat. "The Horde are monsters who hunt and kill in the dark like cowards. Who chased us from our homes and trapped us down here. You were raised by those monsters, and now you think you're going to be our princess?"

Catra almost felt relief - finally, someone was bringing that up. Of course, after she'd given her answer.

She felt a whisper in her mind; a feeling like slipping on black ice or being struck in the back of the head by a falling rock - and she knew someone was behind her. Melog - they were warning her.

She heard movement behind her, and she was careful not to show any surprise when the second voice came from behind her.

"Let her speak, General. Though, I wouldn't disagree with my brother about her not being so scary if she didn't notice me behind her."

Askar looked at her. Shrugged. Then nodded. He gave her the wave, letting her speak.

Melog. Now.

They responded with a feeling like the warmth of a friend at your side in a quiet moment, and she heard the gasp as her massive friend allowed themselves to be seen. As they appeared, just inches from the scout, growling low, there was a series of low gasps.

"I knew you were there. But while you were busy being smug, they were being actually sneaky."